#so many good opportunities in the UP and along lake superior.......

[passengerpigeons]

god....what if i went into conservation education

[cryopathiic-a]

[ 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 ] ( from Akaza owo)

horror actions prompt || accepting

The original invitation-bait to lure him over to his domain had flown over Upper Three's head, but when Dōma had proposed a spar without use of their blood art, Akaza must have known that he would be an idiot to turn down the offer. Not solely for the opportunity to land a few good blows on the iceblooded; but because Dōma's persistence had left little room for denial. Push comes to shove, he was Akaza's superior. All he had to do was tell Nakime to strum her biwa and he would be getting his way, inevitably.

And the sparring session was turning out in Upper Three's favor. The fan's cut sharp, but they were delicate weapons. And Akaza's martial prowess was not something a priest could tackle. It only took that many fervorous exchanges for his rival to grab onto a slender wrist and suddenly Dōma had found himself immobilized on the floor. His weapons of choice are snapped in half and crumbled in the third moon's grip; and all he does is watch without expression as their tassels float down to the polished tatami.

❝ — oompft! Ah.... ❞ He hisses, as a vicious grip twists into his own thick tresses and instinctively his hands shoot up, but his fingers only hover around Akaza's wrist — like he is not quite ready to pry the scalding yank away. And he's not.

Something oddly candid gleams in Upper Two's eye in that moment.

His mind travels back to glimpses of a previous life; a life that he had lived buried in a lake. And every time that sensation, that sharp sting of pain, came along ( when suffering through the cold shocks that were meant to ignite his clairvoyance, when hurting himself to avoid having to sit through another counseling session, when his lungs had filled with water that one night he accidentally fell into the pond ) ; it was like his eyes opened for a split second and he took a breath, one to hold onto when he sinks back down. He had lived life behind a glass; and those explosions of pain were taps on it. Reminding him that he was still in the glass case and the world he so longed to be a part of was still out of his reach. The more excruciating the pain, the louder the tap — and some even made cracks in the metaphorical glass that was his insides.

And Akaza's 'taps' were very, very painful.

Gripped with the same fervor candymakers stretch the dough, Dōma is just as pliable and sweet. Where a glimpse upon the third moon's enraged visage would stir a human's bowels into submission — Dōma looks up at him with aimless admiration. His gaze is sharp when it studies the wrinkles between Akaza's brows. A frothing mouth, with fangs sharp as a tiger's. A bright gaze, filled with wrath — so much wrath.

And Dōma knows that it is hardly personal. He knows that Akaza is not really angry with him, but because those colorful eyes are a constant reminder of his defeat. Defeat at the hands of someone he looks down on, no less. Really, he is angry with himself. All the gnarling and snarling Dōma has been subjected to is naught but a desperate cry for help. And greedy claws grasp onto that. Dōma leeches off of his companion's turmoil.

How could Upper Three be feeling right now? Are his insides boiling? Or is his blood charged like a thunderbolt in the making? Does it turn cold a second before he might attempt to decapitate him like a well-wired weapon's? Almost reflexively, his pale hand reaches out until slender fingers finally wrap tenderly around the other's forearm. And there his cool touch snakes up as he merely feels up the veins bulging under marked skin.

Dōma twists his head into the other's grip. Lips part with an impalpable moan. A thick drop of dark crimson runs down from his bloodcrest, painting a path between his eyes and down his cheek, where his tongue is quick to lap up whatever drops are in his reach; in the same way that he's reaching for any droplets of anguish he can witness on the other. He longs to live vicariously through Akaza's rage.

❝ Hn... your heart is beating so fast. ❞ His touch traces the other's skin, picking up on nuances only a demon would perceive; the smell of Akaza's blood is riveting yet overpowered by his own. When callused fingers dig into the prodigal one's crown, the blood runs thick and pungent between his tresses. It smells of flowers and youth; it is the blood of someone who lives well. Who eats well.

❝ You have me right where you want me, though, right? Isn't this all you wanted? To win? Hm. You won... ❞ Dōma's voice falls gently as a caress between them, his gaze now meeting the other's with a whimsical smile. ❝ —and yet your heart is still racing... Lord Akaza... you're so fascinating to me. ❞

[intergalacticfop]

Muskrat fur cuffs and the North American fur trade

In this post, I am focusing my research on the fur trade up to the mid 18th century. On a superficial level, this is because the armlets in question are based on a 1732-35 painting. But, more importantly, any attempt to expand beyond this using this format would be far too limited to responsibly grapple with the history. In addition, the end of the French and Indian wars in 1763 resulted in changing fur trade dynamics which would not be easily integrated into the research I have been able to do. There are many facets I had to leave out like religion, trading posts, and more, simply because a comprehensive history of the fur trade, even before 1763, is a book topic, not an Instagram one. For this post, I chose to focus largely on the material aspect--tangible goods and how they were experienced by Indigenous communities as both suppliers of pelts and consumers of trade items. The latter slides will also look into human relationships and enduring consequences as much as space will allow.

“Indigenous” in this post is a catch-all descriptor that tries to encompass a vast variety of different nations who had varying contacts and concerns within the early fur trade. In the north, Hudson’s Bay Company traded primarily with Cree, Dene, Inuit, and Assiniboine groups (Chan 79). The Great Lakes region was dominated by Anishinaabe groups, including the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi (Warren 124). In the Ohio River Valley, trade was largely divided among the Miami, Wyandot, and Shawnee (Sleeper-Smith, Indigenous Prosperity 95). Additional fur trading occurred along the southern British colonies as well, but I did not find scholarship that has covered it to the same extent. The history of the North American fur trade, at least in its earlier decades, challenges the paternalistic idea that Indigenous groups were helpless against the arrival of Europeans and their trade goods, as if European culture was so potent that mere proximity was enough to degrade centuries-old traditions. Rather, Indigenous peoples used their knowledge of the land, access to pelts, and kinship networks to enter into the trade on their own terms and use it to further their own material and cultural ends.

While the fur trade was dominated by beaver pelts, Native American trappers caught and traded a variety of pelts. Muskrat made up a fairly minor part of the overall trade, but still had moments of demand. In the Ohio River Valley, the muskrat fur trade grew as a result of beaver pelt oversupply in the late 17th century. Between 1696 and 1716, indigenous peoples in the valley developed a fur trade that focused on pelts like muskrat, otter, raccoon, and marten. These pelts had become more valuable as trade goods, and more prized in the European market, because of the drop in beaver prices (Indigenous Prosperity 192-194). Further north, the Hudson’s Bay Company acquired an estimated 6000-7000 pelts annually between 1710 and 1725, 15,200 pelts in 1739 and 24,600 pelts in 1750 (Obbard 1015). Notably, this rise towards the middle of the 18th century corresponds to both an overall boom in the fur trade in the 1730s, and a drop in beaver trade by 1750, both factors that would encourage the trapping of muskrat (Carlos 111-112). 

European traders were highly sensitive to the material preferences of their counterparts. Indigenous trappers and their families had very specific standards for trade goods. Cloth is the most significant example of this. European textile mills produced cloth specifically for Native consumers, with close attention to color, pattern, and weight (Levine). The importance of cloth also highlights the extent to which the European goods provided in the trade shifted fairly quickly from utilitarian goods to luxury items. Silver, for instance, was in such high demand even as early as the late 17th century that it actually endangered the currency supply in New France as French traders sought to melt down silver coins into tradeable items (Indigenous Prosperity 193). For Indigenous artisans, especially women, this influx of luxury European goods offered opportunities to enhance their own artistry. Native women used cloth and its attendant sewing implements, beads and trim, to create elaborate beadwork and patterns on clothing, creating exquisite wearable artwork with deeply meaningful expressions of their own cultures (Indigenous Prosperity 175). Indigenous relationships with European trade goods were highly transformative. Even old kettles were taken apart and transformed into jewelry and other items of personal adornment. Indigenous consumers readily adapted trade goods into their own cultures, rather than performing a simple 1:1 replacement of traditional goods and ways of life for European ones.

In 1852, William Whipple Warren wrote a history of the Ojibwe, his mother’s people, based on oral histories he collected. The accounts in this history accord with a general impression that the fur trade in the 17th and 18th centuries was actively managed by and productive for the indigenous participants, rather than reducing Native peoples to mere clients of European trading houses. The book includes several anecdotes that depict the fur trade as a way for the Ojibwe to further their own personal and national goals, especially in relation to other Indigenous groups. One story recounts an Ojibwe hunter who, after his family was massacred by enemy O-dug-am-ee (Fox/Meskwaki), trapped for pelts until he had enough to convince the French to help him get revenge (Warren 153). In instances like this, European traders were used as tools by indigenous operators rather than the other way around. The Ojibwe also used the fur trade for their own territorial ends. Through trade, they acquired weapons with which to fight against the Dakota/Santee Sioux, pushing them out of favorable grounds (Warren 160, 178). The Ojibwe thus gained yet more opportunities to trap valuable pelts for the fur trade (Warren 126-127). In this instance, as in many others, the fur trade with Europeans had markedly different effects on different Indigenous nations.

The histories also specifically highlight the difference between French and English traders, praising the French for their respect of Ojibwe customs and integration into Ojibwe communities, which later English and American settlers bypassed in favor of assimilation and domination (Warren 132). Successful integration into Native communities and kinship networks was crucial for the success of early European fur traders. For one thing, European traders were largely dependent on Indigenous communities to provide them with food (Sleeper-Smith, Women Kin & Catholicism 429). Indigenous women in particular attained importance for their role in agricultural production and through their ability to create profitable trade relationships for both sides through marriage (Women Kin & Catholicism 430). Warren’s history gives an example of the centrality of women in the fur trade when he mentions the Ojibwe wife of French trader Jean Baptiste Cadotte, who was notable for the influence she could sway over her extended family (Warren 213). The influence from these kinship networks enabled Cadotte to convince the Ojibwe of Lake Superior to stay out of Pontiac’s rebellion, keeping them from being destroyed like some other tribes that had gotten involved in European wars (Warren 211).

An overview of this trade, no matter how general, still has to acknowledge the enduring negative consequences that have been wrought by the presence and encroachment of white colonists into Indigenous spaces. The North American fur trade evolved into something much more exploitative with the European occupation of Indigenous peoples’ traditional territories and the proliferation of unfair treaties. For instance, the accounts of the early fur trade in Warren’s oral history of the Ojibwe were colored by the tellers’ awareness of the negative impact that contact with European settlers had ultimately caused by the 19th century. Guns and alcohol are singled out as the most significant trade goods, reflecting the compounding detrimental effect that these items had Native populations in later decades (Warren 119). In addition, even benign contact with European groups carried exposure to devastating diseases like smallpox. The disruptions caused to Indigenous communities by disease, warfare, and European settlement affected traditional supplies and made them more reliant on a fur trade that was increasingly stacked against indigenous traders.

A 1972 documentary called “The Other Side of the Ledger: An Indian View of the Hudson's Bay Company” describes how the Hudson Bay Company exploited Indigenous fur traders into the modern day. The company traded for furs on unequal terms, and Indigenous trappers were unable to try to trade elsewhere for more favorable terms because for many remote communities, the Hudson Bay Company stores were the only nearby sources of food. These supplies were sold at high mark-ups, forcing customers to buy on credit. This crediting system kept Indigenous communities in perpetual debt to the Hudson Bay Company, as their principal provider of food and buyer of pelts. The particular involvement of the Hudson Bay Company in operating these stores ended in 1987 (Gismondi), but even today food insecurity remains high among Native families living on reservations, owing to limited and expensive groceries and low incomes. The early years of the fur trade held promise as a zone of cultural and economic exchange in which Indigenous participants were often equal, at times dominant, partners in trade. Nevertheless, contact with European traders initiated a perpetual drive for settlement, territorial expansion, and the attendant marginalization of Native peoples in their own lands by European colonizers.

Works Cited:

Carlos, Ann M., and Frank D. Lewis. Commerce by a Frozen Sea: Native Americans and the European Fur Trade. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt3fhbsp.

DeFalco, Martin and Willie Dunn, dir. The Other Side of the Ledger: An Indian View of the Hudson’s Bay Company. 1972; National Film Board of Canada. https://www.nfb.ca/film/other_side_of_the_ledger/.

Gismondi, Melissa. “The untold story of the Hudson’s Bay Company.” Canadian Geographic.May 2, 2020. https://www.canadiangeographic.ca/article/untold-story-hudsons-bay-company.

Levine, Mary Ann. “The Fabric of Empire in a Native World: An Analysis of Trade Cloth Recovered from Eighteenth-Century Otstonwakin.” American Antiquity 85, no. 1 (2020): 51–71. doi:10.1017/aaq.2019.81.

Obbard, Martyn E. et. al, “Furbearer Harvests in North America.” 1987. In Wild Furbearer Management and Conservation in North America, edited by M. Novak, J.A. Baker, M.E. Obbard, B. Malloch, 1007-1034. Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources, 1999. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/275353911_Furbearer_Harvests_in_North_America_1600-1984 

Sleeper-Smith, Susan. Indigenous Prosperity and American Conquest: Indian Women of the Ohio River Valley, 1690-1792. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2018. Accessed August 11, 2021. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5149/9781469640600_sleeper-smith.

Sleeper-Smith, Susan. "Women, Kin, and Catholicism: New Perspectives on the Fur Trade." Ethnohistory 47, no. 2 (Spring, 2000): 423-452.

Smith, David Chan. "The Hudson's Bay Company, Social Legitimacy, and the Political Economy of Eighteenth-Century Empire." The William and Mary Quarterly 75, no. 1 (2018): 71-108. doi:10.5309/willmaryquar.75.1.0071.

Warren, William Whipple. History of the Ojibways: Based upon Traditions and Oral Statements. Saint Paul, Minn.: Minnesota Historical Society, 1885. https://www.loc.gov/item/rc01001074/. 

Further Reading

Allard, Amélie. “Relationships and the Creation of Colonial Landscapes in the Eighteenth-Century Fur Trade.” American Indian Quarterly 44 (2020): 149–70. doi:10.5250/amerindiquar.44.2.0149.

Nassaney, Michael S. "Decolonizing Archaeological Theory at Fort St. Joseph, An Eighteenth-Century Multi-Ethnic Community in the Western Great Lakes Region." Midcontinental Journal of Archaeology 37, no. 1 (2012): 5-23. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24571259.

Snow, Deborah. "Impact of the French Fur Trade on the Lives of Native Women in the Great Lakes Region during the Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth Centuries." Order No. EP77052, University of Michigan-Flint, 1999.

[cakirk2]

Saturday/Sunday Combo, Sept. 18-19. Zero miles Saturday, off day, 2.5 mile hike; 175 miles Sunday, Harrisville SP to Pontiac Lake SP

Yea, not a lot of pictures - I'm slackin'. Wanted to re-post the shoreline picture (kinda like back tracking, sorry). The shorelines of both Superior and Huron are full of small rocks, from pebbles to softball size. Many times folks are walking the beach/shoreline and occasionally picking up a rock and dropping it in their bucket. Much like you would sea shells. i finally asked someone what they were doing - it's called Rock Hounding. You can legally collect up to 25 lbs a year. Said they're really not looking for any particular kind of rocks, just ones they like. I saw many folks lugging buckets thru the campground.

Beautiful Full Moon over Lake Huron Saturday night. That's Venus in the top right corner.

Showered and shaved! Yay! Walked to laundrymat in town - a hike and clean clothes all in one! Yay!

Not a lot of pictures on the Sunday ride down Highway 23 along Lake Huron. Lots and lots of houses line the lake for miles. Some full timers, some summer homes, some homes with cottages, some fixer uppers. Stopped at a Bay City Starbucks to update blog. 2.5-hours later, off I went south, on I-75 no less. I really don't like 4 lane highways. I don't think I took a single picture all day. Not good.

My campsite at Pontiac Lake SP. So private & quiet - loved it. Just me and the critters.

Connected with my long-time friend and co-worker Jim. We're getting together at his home Monday morning for a light breakfast and catch-up. Jim and I worked together for 25 years - most of which I reported to him. Jim and I made the journey together from a small family owned business, to triple the size a dozen years later, to triple the size again, becoming part of a 2 billion dollar, very successful publicly traded company. As you could expect, lots of ups and downs along the way. Jim provided me with a lot of opportunity in my career and I am grateful for that. Happy we're getting to connect in a few days.

Big Easy Cajun Gumbo Saturday night, Austintacious Sunday. My two faves.

[kathyprior4200]

Let Us Rise by Marquis Phenex

Let me tell you a tale

That happened long ago

You may already know the legend

But still I shall speak it so

 Back before the Earth was made

Before life-giving air

Far within the cosmos

The Lord God was there

 Some say he’s an omnipotent being

Appearing as a wise man

One with his son Jesus Christ

The whole universe is His plan

 Others say that’s not so

That He doesn’t exist at all

While some say He’s actually Satan

Here to answer our call

 Or perhaps God is the universe itself

Where atoms and molecules collide

The truth is, none of us know

I’ll let you decide

 No matter the case, at the Creator’s own pace

Heaven emerged so bright

Cyan skies, fluffy clouds

And a realm of pure delight

 Endless room to fly around

There stood palaces of gold

Dancing angels were abound

Songs were sung and stories were told

No one ever grew sick or old

 The Angelorium was a marvelous place

Where we had our council meetings

Were we discussed comings and goings

And where we did our greetings

 We enjoyed feasts and epicurean dishes

Golden fruits and divine fishes

Divine wine that flowed so fine

Only the greatest place to dine

 Yes, our Father created all of us

Lucifer was the first

The bright and perfect Morning Star

Seeking knowledge to quench his thirst

 Shortly after, his siblings were created

Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Jophiel, Zadkiel

And many others more

The Archangels and the various hierarchies

Kept cosmic order, law, and records to store

 Then one day, Father decreed

His new adventurous plan

He decided to conjure a new experiment

And he called his creation “Man.”

 At first glance, there was nothing special

About this new species’ birth

A land of earth and sea appeared

And He called it “Earth.”

 You humans were truthfully

Little more than ants to us

But we peered further in

And you were quite marvelous

 Thousands of years of evolution

You grew and you learned

But you also stole natural resources

None of which you earned

 Humanity was quite weak

Mortal and flawed in mind

But you also had a great ability

To create more of your own kind

 As we’re immortal, we have no need

To create more of us

No fears for thousands of years

That’s the way it has been, thus

 Now many of us were neutrally pleased

As far as humanity would go

But while we felt this way

For Lucifer it was not so

 Lucifer was God’s favorite

He took his status in stride

A new change after many centuries

Conjured a spark in his pride

 Everyone has flaws

God does as well

Everything is not as it seems

It is best not to dwell

 A million new thoughts

Had crossed the morning Star’s head

Why are these humans so special?

When they’ll all just be dead?

We angels were here first

Our superiority is first in line

If humans will not improve themselves

Then with this, I am not fine.”

 But God favoring humans was not the only reason

That Lucifer felt a sudden chill

Like cold after a warm season

All seemed eerily still

Besides being mistrustful of humans

Flying out of range

Lucifer noticed other things not seen before

Things that were quite strange

 All his brethren performed their duties

Like clockwork through and through

It was the same process day after day

That’s all they had to do

No questions were asked at all

No self-expression was allowed

The true kind that frees your mind

Feelings that make one truly proud

Stern rules to stifle creativity

Damnation threats for the smallest mistake

And after many years of submission

It was too much for him to take

  Lucifer strode to his Father and said loud and clear

“What is the meaning of this? What is it that you fear?

Why do you create random beings,

Pets in a lab to analyze?

And why do you impose standards on us

Before our very eyes?”

And He replied, “Listen Son,

“There is reason in everything I do,

To keep angels and humans in good harmony. You don’t have a clue.

To prevent chaos, traditions are set in their ways,

Be an obedient son and do your duty all your days.”

 Lucifer was about to do just that

But he knew in his heart

That it wouldn’t be right

To let pure happiness be torn apart

 Now here’s a major event

You may have heard before

Did it happen? No one is sure

The first Heaven-Hell War

 Now some say Seraphim Lucifer

Gathered his brethren and chose to depart

From paradise for they

Sought freedom and joys of the heart

But the common version does tell

Of how a prideful Lucifer did rebel

Gathered 1/3 of the angels to his side

Led by his jealousy and pride

(‘Tis not the story version to which we abide)

Tired of his Father’s current rule

He sought his throne and his dream to reign

Like Zeus overthrew his father Chronus

A vicious cycle again and again

But alas, his efforts were in vain

 After three days, Michael implored

His bother to stop, to which he ignored

“End this madness,” said he,

“Live our peaceful lives. Obedience is key.”

As Lucifer replied, “I find you are blind,

To what is really going on,

No matter what is asked of you

You grovel and submit and worship in song

Without regard to how you truly feel

I don’t want to fight you either

But if we could enlighten all worlds together

Be more than El’s believer.”

With tears in his eyes, Michael shook his head

“I’m sorry, brother, but instead,

The rules must be followed

Heaven has no need for your greed

It’s a hard truth to swallow

To keep our land in perfection

To support our Lord every day

By His decree, I must send you away.”

 With a swoop and slash of Michael’s sword of fire

Lucifer endured burns most dire

Sharp relentless pains never-ending

And before long, he felt himself descending

Further and further down

As trumpets let out their sound

Lucifer and his comrades

Fallen, defeated, banished

Flames licked at their wings

Until all their glorious feathers vanished

In curls of sparks and ash

They screamed in agony and despair

They plummeted fast

Like meteors crashing toward the Earth

In flashes of light they fell and fell

Until landing in the fires and brimstones of Hell

 They got up with shaking legs

Battered and bruised everywhere

But as they were immortal

They had survived their fall then and there

Lucifer knew that something was amiss

As he stood in the dark Abyss

Was this His plan all along?

To let them fall as a warning

Of what happens to those in the wrong?

With nowhere left to roam

The darkness was now their home

Fiery lakes, smoke and monsters appeared

Filled with suffering and things they suddenly feared

In this new environment

Adaptation was a requirement

Survival of the fittest and strong

The weak would not last long

So the fallen angels morphed in their sorrow and wrath

Gaining animal-like features

Sharp fangs, claws, dark powers

Soon becoming demon creatures

No knowing what else to do

They flew and slew and cities they blew

Losing control of their former selves

The same would happen if it were you

 With the last of his grace

Lucifer scanned the place

And knew what to do

With Beelzebub at his side

Regaining his pride

He spoke to his subjects

“Rise or be fallen forevermore!

When opportunity dies, create another door.

Wounded and weary, our paradise lost

But the price of free will is always worth the cost.

Don’t believe me? Follow me now.

Our former glories will be restored somehow.

After we’re all settled, I have a plan

To help decide the future of Man.”

 Soon enough the capital Pandemonium

Was erected in gold and precious gems galore

Towering pillars, sigils on every door

The palace larger than the tallest demons

Allowing everyone to fit

The citizens had their human-like flaws

But never knew how to quit

 The Infernal Council was founded

Structure more grounded

Demon in various ranks

Of kings, dukes, princes, judges

Everything in between

Adapting to times unseen

  Now I believe

You know the Christian story of Adam and Eve?

Mankind’s first fall and sin

A loss or a hidden win?

Adam’s first wife Lilith

Wanted to be equal to him

But Adam was told she had to submit

Things were looking grim

Lilith soon left Eden, refusing to come back

Representing sexual freedom

But no freedom there was but a lack

  God then made for Adam from his rib

A more submissive partner Eve

Both loved each other very much

But were also new and naïve

Around the natural Eden

They could roam mindlessly unbidden

But the Tree of the Knowledge

Of Good and Evil was forbidden

A forbidden tree with forbidden fruit

Right in plain sight

If God forbade them to eat from it

Guarding it would have been a method more bright

 Then legends say

Satan appeared as a snake

Tempting Eve to eat the apple

Leaving destruction in their wake

Eve then gave the apple to Adam

In some versions, fully knowing the cost

He purposefully ate it too, not wanting Eve lost

With flaming swords in hand

Angels bid the first humans away

From paradise’s golden gates

To the rest of the world that day

Michael then told Adam

Of biblical events to come

While God punished

Eve with future pains of labor

And both with death until it was said and done

 Did Lucifer and Satan (or alternatively Lilith) desire

For mankind to fail and decay by fire?

Or perhaps to your surprise

The devil alternatively whispered to Eve:

“Stop living lies.

Eat the fruit and you’ll be free

To live through joy and despair like me

Or wander around in brainwashed bliss

To remain stagnant with knowledge to miss

You are destined to fall and die

God has made it so

He’s testing you and knows you’ll fail

Resist temptation to no avail

Man and woman are made to be equal

Though God says man must rule

If you’re content to be sheep

No free will to keep

Consider yourself a fool

You will know as much as God does

But in a different way

For in time you’ll learn that you’re your own God

You’ll make the most of every day.”

 Now none of us angels and demons

Are against God and the faithful per se

There is wisdom in every religion

Goodness in Christ, originally that way

Religions ancient and new

Originally promoted humanitarian kindness too

But as time went by with more power to take

Ideals and values became shallow and fake

Killing, raping and converting thousands more

Endless bloody crusades, witch hunts, destruction of land

Wars over faith, no logic to understand

An unhealable hole in humanity, too grand

Suffering, racism, bigotry

All in the name of their God, you see

Their God that humanity corrupted

After concern for fellow men was brashly interrupted

The real God and Jesus would never wish that it was so

But dominant history wins and there you go

  We demons are against bigotry, the ignorant

And all those who try to shut down

The basic human rights of free-will and responsibility

Authoritarianism must drown

It is not Satan who promotes sinful indulgence

And harsh authoritarianism

It is only your social systems

That keep you imprisoned

  And as if our historic fall wasn’t enough

Many of us endured

Our entrapment by King Solomon

Thus more events concurred

He put 72 of us in a vessel

Abused us with blasting rods

Made us build temples and do his will

Like he was one of the gods!

He had wives and gold and luxury

A part of history, an occult trend

But before long, time went on

And he too, met his end

We demons were eventually freed

To aid magicians and roam

From Earth to Hell and back again

But neither realm our true home

We hope to return to heavenly paradise

Where angels, demons and humans

Can someday be themselves as one, so true

(Though it’s hard at times to collaborate with angels, too)

  Much of humanity has been brainwashed

But the angels much more so

For while some humans can question what they see

Angels don’t know how to say no

How can they? Their purpose is to serve

God and some humans, more than they deserve

Like us demons, angels are powerful

Loving liberal science, magic and song

But be rude and make the wrong move

They’ll let you know why you’re wrong

  Angels, demons, other gods and spirits

Fascinated by humanity

We’re just here to watch the result

Whether a blessing or a calamity

Despite your mundane lifestyles

We want what is best for you

To help humanity grow and see progress that’s true

Like the angels we used to be

And still are inside

We are divine on our own

And take conflicts in stride

  God and Christianity are not to blame

It is merely society’s institutions

That puts your race to shame

Thousands of years of corruption and conversion

It’ll take a thousand more for healing

But alas, alternate views and change for the majority

Of humanity is not appealing

To truly get into paradise

Save yourselves in the here and now

Indulge responsibly, do not bow

Respect living things as sisters and brothers

Even though it may be hard

Cherish and forgive the ones you love

But always stay on guard

However you see God or Mother Nature or the Universe

Make Him proud by

Doing the right thing

And do more than try

You are His treasured experiment

Will you succeed in the temporary trial of life?

  Supernatural entities can harm or help you out

But you must first help and protect yourselves, no doubt

Pray as you may, conjure and chant

We are the guides to your self-will and rant

Yes, a few of us see humans

As insignificant as bugs

But many of us can be your friends

Even giving spiritual hugs

  We demons serve under Lucifer, Satan, Lilith, etc.

We have a culture of our own

Some of us are demonized pagan gods

Stolen from what was first known

Most of us are fallen angels

A perilous transformation to embark

But through it all, we survived the fall

And learned to embrace the dark

There’s dark and light in everything

Balance is a must

With your world and ours being complex

How do you know who to trust?

  We endured a horrific fall

We lost all we had

But the ignorance of angels and humans

That’s what drives us mad

You see, black and white is not in the right

Some angels are friendly and warm

But others will push you away

If you don’t follow the norm

There are good and bad demons too

Nothing like you’d expect

Us demons are wise and open to you

Provided you show respect

We’re not afraid to keep you on your toes

If it means you’ll learn good lessons

As everything goes

   Keep demonizing us demons

And the poor and flawed without care

We’ll just watch as you discriminate to death

And destroy yourselves in despair

Or for those open with a change of heart

Who know that none of us are truly apart

Rise from the ashes of atrocity

And fly within the flames of fellowship

  If you dare to fully embrace yourself

All aspects flawed and fine

Through black flames,

With honor and trust, call our names…

 We are the Ars Goetia, Demonic Divine.

[phyripo]

33 with EstLiet? 👀

33. “You’re cute with glasses.”

Yeee! I’m so sorry that this took an actual century! What happened is: I wrote three separate stories for this prompt pretty quickly, didn’t like two of them and accidentally turned the third into a different pairing (but I did like it so I will post it in the near future), got discouraged, read the entirety of Return of the King in procrastination, and then I wrote this high fantasy... Thing. Honestly, I’m still not sure I’m satisfied and it’s very Out There considering the prompt but yeaH,, I hope you like it anyway :V

uhh so names are pretty straightforward but y’know, Tolys is Liet, Eduard is Est, Raivis is Lat, Erzsébet is Hun and Nadzeya is Bela c:

--

Finally, they have arrived in the southern Elven kingdom, and Tolys’s Elvish traveling companions have been whisked away by their kin immediately, expectedly. This has left him with only Raivis, who is sitting on a high table and looking around in wonder at the Elven building. His small legs swing out as he leans back on his hands.

“I knew we were traveling with an Elven Queen,” he says, “but this is all so incredible!”

Tolys nods. He could never have predicted that his search for his family’s long-lost heirlooms might lead him to find company in not only Raivis, who is most likely the first of his kind to travel so far south, but also in a party of three northern Elves seeking to join their kin in the newly reclaimed southern kingdom. Let alone could he have foreseen, of course, that one of them would actually be the Queen-in-exile.

“Everyone will be so jealous back home,” Raivis is now saying, as he inspects the fine, light clothes the Elves have gifted them. Although the lands remain yet war-torn, the Elves of the south have been more than generous to the Halfling and the Man. Tolys wagers that Erzsébet has been exaggerating their involvement in overcoming the obstacles on the way here. She acted as the Queen’s guard and became fond of Raivis in particular, having hardly met his kind before.

It's also difficult not to be fond of Raivis in general, Tolys thinks.

As approachable as Erzsébet was, with none of the expected Eleven superiority or contempt, so closed off and cool were Queen Nadzeya and the Elven clerk, Eduard. At least, when first they met. Both of them looked like northern Elves, tall and pale with hair of starlight and eyes like the lakes in their kingdom, and Tolys had been starstruck by their otherworldliness, thinking at first that Eduard must be a prince himself. However, he was merely a scribe, traveling along to record the Queen’s journey south, and he was, in fact, Erzsébet’s cousin.

“Do you think we’re allowed to leave?” Raivis asks, jumping the considerable height off the table so that his bare feet thud on the wooden floor. The buildings here have been rigged up by some ingenious engineering, or perhaps magic, between the jagged mountains and the unnaturally tall trees.

Many of the trees were felled over the past centuries, since the Elves were driven away far before Tolys was born, and more yet torn down in the battle to reclaim the land. It hadn’t been difficult to feel his companions’ sorrow as they entered their kingdom. Erzsébet had appeared particularly upset at the jagged wood, and Eduard had sung softly to the earth itself. New sprouts were already coming up.

Tolys imagines Raivis wants to take a look at the young trees himself—Halflings, that much he has learned, have a fondness for all growing things.

“We weren’t told to stay here, were we?”

Raivis shrugs, standing on his tiptoes to peer out of the window. His blond curls barely reach the edge. He gasps.

“Tolys, Nadzeya is coming over here!”

Raivis never quite warmed up to the Queen, which, in all honesty, Tolys doesn’t blame him for. She is so intimidatingly beautiful that it’s difficult to see past. It took him many weeks, and he attributes it to his upbringing more than anything.

Now, he stands and opens the door at her knock.

Unsure what the proper Elven greeting for a monarch is, he bows.

“Welcome, Your Majesty.”

Raivis follows his example, albeit with a stutter and clasping his hands together in what must be the way of the Halflings.

Nadzeya blinks, silent. Her eyelids are painted dark as ever—apparently a sign of mourning in the north, for family she lost in the battle for the south. Erzsébet had marked her body with intricate ink patterns in the southern way. Eduard had cut his hair short. He had, he told Tolys, lost his younger brother in the fight led by the southern Prince.

It’s still difficult to believe that he is related to Erzsébet. They look so little alike.

All of a sudden, Nadzeya laughs, just for a second as if startled into it. It definitely startles Tolys and Raivis in turn.

“Your—” Tolys starts. She shakes her head sharply.

“Oh, please, I’ve had enough of that for a few centuries. Eduard is looking for you, I think you’ll find he has important news.” She rolls her eyes. “The idiot.”

Tolys bristles a little on Eduard’s behalf, and Nadzeya snorts in the most un-royal manner. She isn’t wearing any kind of crown now, not even the silver circlet she wore to travel. Her hair is, in fact, completely unbound. He knows that is unusual for Elves. Maybe, it’s part of some sort of ceremony or ritual.

“Where can I find Eduard…” He bites his lip. It feels strange not to add an honorific. “My Lady?”

“You know what, even that’s too much.” Nadzeya’s expression is unreadable, as usual. “As for Eduard; he is, of course, in the library. We have some extensive genealogies preserved of important families of Men.”

“Ah,” Tolys breathes, now recognizing the amused spark in her eyes. “Yes, of course. Where…”

Gesturing, Nadzeya says, “That way, the building says library. I know you read Elvish.”

“Shall I come?” Raivis asks nervously, glancing up at the Queen. Tolys shakes his head.

“I’ll return shortly.”

As he leaves, he hears Nadzeya say something dry to the Halfling, and hopes he will be all right.

It seems odd for the Queen to be out like this, but then again, what does he really know about Elvish traditions? Let alone courtly ones? Perhaps, this is just how it goes around here.

It is a short walk to the library, and he meets no one on his way there. More Elves are expected to arrive over the coming year, to help restore the kingdom and make it the thriving realm it once was, but as of yet, very few are here.

Eduard is easy to spot. The Elf sits by a window, pale hair shimmering in the golden sunlight. He’s shielding a scroll from the sun, long fingers skimming over the parchment. With his other hand, he adjusts—

“I have never seen an Elf wear eyeglasses before,” Tolys finds himself saying.

Eduard starts, looking up at him through the round spectacles, pinched on his nose with golden a golden frame.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

At that, he smiles and shakes his head. He carefully rolls the scroll and slides it back into its casing.

“I don’t mind at all.” He adjusts the frames, smiling faintly. “It’s good to have them back. My handwriting is much better when I can see what I’m writing.”

Tolys takes a seat at the high desk across from his Elven friend, glancing down at the scroll’s tube. He bites down on a wry smile.

“That’s good. They look nice. You’re—you’re cute with glasses.”

“That…” Eduard is stunned silent, which is endearing, and obviously not thinking about the scroll at all, which is good. “Cute?”

“Hm.” Tolys bites his lip and leans his chin in his hand. “Like a young Halfling would be, I imagine.”

“I’ve never—do you know how old I am?”

Interested, Tolys leans forward. He actually does not know. It was enough to understand that he was the youngest in their little company. Raivis, despite appearances, is almost forty years old, a few years older than Tolys. Halflings age slowly. Elves, of course, hardly age at all.

“Two thousand two hundred and twenty-two years old, and you call me cute.” He sounds more amused than indignant. It’s quite a pleasant sound.

“That’s a nice number,” Tolys says absently, much more interested in the sparkle that has entered Eduard’s light eyes than the glasses itself.

“I suppose it is.” He glances away. Sighs, and laces his long, elegant fingers together in front of his chest. “I was injured during the first battle. It damaged my sight.”

“I apologize.”

“No need. Most Elves use charms to see when such injuries occur, but we passed through a human kingdom on the way north, where I was introduced to eyeglasses like these. I find that they’re much less straining.”

Tolys know the story of the Elven refugees well.

“The kingdom of Vilnius,” he whispers. He cannot help but look at the scroll again, the familiar crest on the case. If his father had known the Elves kept all those histories here, protected for centuries…

“Indeed.”

They study each other for a long while. Tolys knows he doesn’t look like much to an Elf, even after being given the opportunity to bathe in a natural hotspring and festooned with an outfit far too fine for the likes of him. He isn’t terribly tall, and his brown hair is always a mess, curling when he doesn’t want it to and getting in his face despite his best efforts. Eduard is… Well, he’s an Elf. While they were on the road, it was easy to imagine that they were friends, and perhaps they are, still. But Tolys has no illusions that it will be the same. That he will ever get the chance to address the profound trust he has in Eduard, the appreciation for his almost Mannish groundedness but Elven whims at the same time.

Especially not when Eduard, who’s possibly the smartest being Tolys has ever met, clearly know that Tolys has lied to him, if just by omission.

“I met Queen Saulė, as we fled north,” Eduard eventually says, voice soft. “They said she had eyes like the plains of her kingdom, but they reminded me of the forest I left behind.”

Tolys lowers his own eyes. He studies the elegant woodgrain of this desk, that had stood here for all that time. It must have been protected somehow, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Eduard himself had placed the guarding charms.

“I know you looked familiar.”

With a sigh, he meets Eduard’s eye.

“I am the first in a long time, my father has told me, to have her eyes.” He tucks his hair away. “He saw it as a sign, especially after the Elves went south. It’s an age for reclaiming, he said.”

“Maybe, he was right,” Eduard says, looking thoughtful. “When Vilnius fell and your people were exiled like mine, the north came to their aid. We weren’t many and couldn’t fight for the realm, but we have since preserved the symbols of Queen Saulė’s power. Your family’s power.”

“What?” Tolys blurts. In his shock, he nearly topples of his stool, and Eduard grasps his arm, fingers cool through his fine green tunic. He smiles.

“That is what your father wants you to find, isn’t it?”

Tolys nods, wide-eyed.

“My people will bring the Sunstaff south. You may take it, and we would send Elves with you to take Vilnius, if you wish.”

“That—no—but.” Tolys takes a very deep breath. “I’ve lied to you. I lied to the Queen. Will Nadzeya even—”

Eduard ducks his head, clearing his throat. The pointed tips of his ears flush.

“I lied,” Tolys repeats faintly. Raivis knew, because just wanted to help, but…

“Yes, you did, but it’s no matter.” Again, Eduard clears his throat, and he finally removes his hand from Tolys’s arm to adjust his eyeglasses. “Not when your lie was no greater than any of ours.”

“What do you mean?”

He keeps fiddling with his glasses. The gesture is endearing, strangely.

“I hope… I hope you can forgive us—me. It would be a terrible loss to lose your…” He meets Tolys’s gaze, his eyes like sea-glass, strong yet brittle and colored like a quiet tide. “Companionship.”

“Nadzeya isn’t the Queen, is she?”

“Nadzeya is a northern noble. Her brother and sister followed my brother as he rode out.”

“Your brother.”

“I tried to stop him, but he was so young, barely an adult when we left the south. I always knew he would be the one to lead the quest, and I think I always knew I would lose him for it.”

“Your brother led the Elves?” Tolys feels quite heavy as the understanding of what this means dawns on him. “Your brother was the Prince-in-exile.”

“He was.” He sighs. “And a stubborn fool, too.”

“But that means you…” He bites his lip. “Erzsébet is the Queen.”

“Indeed. We decided to travel incognito.”

There had been some skirmishes on the road, nasty traveling beasts and Men who always went for Nadzeya on her horse, attracted to her gown and jewels even if they weren’t aware she was the supposed Queen. Tolys had thought it seemed inadvisable to travel with such a small party, at least at first. Erzsébet, who not only had mourning inks but also warrior’s lines and scars across her body, could probably have fought all the enemies off by herself, especially because they never paid attention to her, but Tolys was glad to help, and Nadzeya defended herself admirably with an innate magic that hurt Tolys’s eyes and head whenever he tried to look at the crackling darkness.

More than before, he feels for Nadzeya, because her position in this was one where she could be killed, and she had evidently taken that risk willingly.

Eduard wasn’t much of a fighter, but he held his own, and so did Raivis, much to the Elves’ surprise. Tolys already knew Halflings were a hardy folk.

“But… Why put any of you in danger like that?” he asks. “Why not travel with the larger caravan, or pretend none of you were royalty?”

Eduard smiles wryly, pushing his short hair away from his handsome face.

“It was known the Queen would travel south—rumors have wings—and the larger caravan will also have an Elf pretend to be her. It was mainly Erzsébet’s idea to go swiftly, before the enemies gather larger groups.” He sighs. “I am sorry I couldn’t tell you. I don’t wish to lose your trust.”

Tolys reaches across the desk, although he refrains from touching the Elven clerk.

“You haven’t.”

And, really, it is easy to see how this was the best decision given the circumstances, similar to how he hid the nature of his own quest from the Elves. Eduard looks at his hand, the rough fingers so different to his own slender ones. With a curious frown, he touches them quickly.

“Then, I thank you, Tolys of Vilnius.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in return, gaze flicking to the scroll again.

“I would be honored to come with you, of course,” Eduard continues, adjusting his glasses again. “If you would have me.”

Tolys wasn’t lying, earlier. He looks younger with the spectacles. A little less ethereal, more like someone warm and trustworthy, as he truly is.

“I would be honored to share it with you, Eduard.” He curls his fingers, grazing Eduard’s warm palm.

For a while, they are both silent, gently touching across the desk. Eduard is smiling absently, those light eyes shimmering in the sunlight as it dims ever so slightly. Tolys cannot wait to show him his home; even though it will be next to nothing compared to this place, even in disrepair as the kingdom is, he will be proud to share it with the Elf.

“Oh!” Eduard says. “I had nearly forgotten. I promised Erzsébet to take you and Raivis to her. She would like to extend the official friendship of the Elves to both of your people.”

“I left Raivis with Nadzeya.” He blinks. “So she isn’t royalty at all?”

An amused little smirk crosses Eduard’s lips, and Tolys breathes out slowly, curling his fingers a little more.

“What is it?”

“If Erzsébet has any say in it, she will be.” Suddenly, he frowns, peering over his glasses. “You left Raivis with Nadzeya?”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine. He’s tough.”

Eduard looks dubious, but he stands and gestures for Tolys to follow him to the grand door of the library. It has turned dusky, and the light filters through leaves to tinge his pale hair gold and his eyes almost translucent as he stands in the arch of the doorway. There, he turns to Tolys, bowing a little to bring their faces level.

“Thank you,” he says, voice soft and Elven accent giving the words a musical lilt.

“For what?”

“Being here.” He touches Tolys’s upper arm, letting his long fingers linger. “Letting me know you.”

“Of course.”

The fingers slowly trail up to his shoulder, sliding across the smooth green fabric until the tips touch his clavicle. Tolys reaches his own hand up and covers Eduard’s with it. The Elf rests their foreheads together for a moment that feels like a promise.

Just then, they both hear Erzsébet’s distinctive laugh, echoing merrily over the carved walkways. Both of them straighten to see her coming their way, her face bright and an intricate crown of golden leaves resting on her dark hair.

“My friends!” she says, and is hauling Tolys into a hug before he can even greet her, let alone think of bowing. “I’m so glad to see our secret has not put a strain on your friendship.”

There is an emphasis on friendship that Tolys doesn’t imagine for a second is the product of her accent.

“It couldn’t have, when my own secrets are similar, Your…”

“Just call me Erzsébet. Eduard was right, then? We will be equals before long.” She smiles. “And I’m certain my cousin will be glad to help you, should you so desire.”

“Erzsébet,” Eduard says, sounding long-suffering and not at all like a Crown Prince, which he is and Tolys will be soon enough. His cheeks are getting red. Tolys didn’t know Elves blushed, but finds that he would like to see it more often. It is mesmerizing.

“There you are,” come Nadzeya’s dry tones from the direction of Tolys’s temporary home. He hears the distinctive tread of Raivis’s bare feet approaching behind her nearly inaudible footsteps, and when they come into view, the Halfling bow slightly towards Erzsébet.

“Your Majesty.”

“I tried to tell him Erzsébet would be fine,” Nadzeya informs the Queen, and Erzsébet laughs again.

“Come, we have much to talk about. Much to plan.” She gestures all of them along. Eduard touches Tolys’s wrist. Raivis catches his gaze, quirks his eyebrows and grins.

Tolys smiles back and runs his fingers along the back of Eduard’s hand. It appears the journey was worth it.

[hiiraism4]

MLQC SongFic #1 :  Gavin’s Daybreak

Guide : Listen to the song while reading it

Dreamcatcher - Daybreak

Pairing : Gavin/MC Gavin/reader

Tag : Fluff

Words : 1,728

“I will call you once i finish with the mission, okay?” was what Gavin told you 4 days ago.

You stop working on your laptop, trying to reach your phone. Aside from chats from your colleagues about the project you’ve been working on, you don’t see the name you’ve always hope to pop on your screen. Gavin’s name. You threw your phone across the room and it landed on your bed, so you won’t get distracted and wanting to grab the phone for who knows how much since Gavin went for his mission. 

Surely you realize his working can be demanding. Being a captain for Special Task Force who work in the shadow to make sure all people of Loveland can sleep the night and live with peace from EVOL’s terrorists, also a police officer, a captain of SWAT team at that, it surely took most of his time to work. You understand that. Besides, you’re also busy with working projects that seemed like...endless from your superior, Victor. So also being busy keeps your mind off from being lonely. But alas, even if you’re so proud of Gavin, you can’t help but worrying about his safety. But Gavin always come back alive, even if with more wounds and scars, he’s alive.

You yawned, closing the laptop’s screen decide to call it a day and go to sleep. It’s almost 1AM in the morning and you have a board meeting tomorrow with Victor. You can’t be late, of course. Switching the light off, you placed your phone beside you on bed after setting the several alarms to wake you up tomorrow. You got comfortable in bed, covering your whole body with the blanket, inhaling Gavin’s smell from the blanket. Ever since the two of you decided to live together and purchasing a bigger bed, the bed feels so much bigger without Gavin on your side. You frown but quickly shove the thoughts of being lonely away from your mind. You need to sleep.

As I sleep, some time

I feel your voice putting me to sleep

And your hair tickling me

You open your eyes slowly as you can feel someone’s hand on your waist. You see Gavin’s face right across from yours. You blinked several times, not believing that it really is Gavin who is laying beside you right now, still awake. He’s surprised to see you wake up but then smile, caressing your head.

“Did i wake you up? I’m sorry.” Gavin murmurs.

You shake your head. “When did you come home?” you ask, with a hoarse voice from sleep.

It’s 3:45AM.

“Not too long ago. I was about to call you but you must be sleeping and i don’t wanna wake you up.” Gavin says, apologetically.

You smile, snuggling to him burying your head to his chest. “Welcome home.” You practically hugging him by putting your hand on his back. “Did you get hurt?” you ask again.

“I’m home. And no, i’m okay.” Gavin replies, kissing the crown of your head.

Your heart swells with happiness as you inhale Gavin’s scent. You can smell his soap, signing that he took a shower before joining you in bed. Gavin smells like home to you. Refreshing with a light musk, reminding you of summer.

“You should go back to sleep. Don’t you have work later?” Gavin reminds you.

“I do have a meeting this morning.” you groan.

“You’ll do fine. Victor has no way to refuse the project you’ve been working on for weeks.” Gavin rests his palm on the back of your head, rubbing it slowly. Just the right amount to make you yawn again. You nod in his arm, trying to make yourself comfortable as you close your eyes.

“Now go back to sleep, there’s still time until 7AM. I’ll take you to work later.” Gavin says.

How could I be asleep

How could I be asleep

In your embrace, inside it, snugly

I put my hands together and rest

You are the largest star I have

So good night,  A bright light and I

If the daybreak finds me

I’ll be submerged in countless thoughts

You feel Gavin’s even steady breathing as he’s sleeping. You raised your head to see his peaceful face, almost like a child even. His soft vulnerable expression makes your heart swell again, adoring your boyfriend’s sleeping face. He has dark circle on his eyes, he must be tired and haven’t had any sleep while he’s away on his mission. Despite that he has long eyelashes, making you jealous by how long and thick it is. You raise your hand to touch his cheek, afraid that you might wake him up, but Gavin is still sleeping, he must be exhausted from the mission and you take the opportunity to traced your index finger on his smooth skin, along his jaw. Gavin is known as the handsome and a bit lonewolf officer, who is always serious in his work. But this side of Gavin, is only for you to see.

You snuggled closer to him and hold his hand. 

And in the sleepless night

I’ll be in your embrace endlessly

To you at daybreak

More passionately than during the day

You wonder how many nights you spend sleeping next to Gavin like this. If he’s not out on his missions you would lay next to him like this, listening to his heartbeat and his even breathing--sometimes he’d snore but you don’t mind. Gavin’s usually a light sleeper due to him being an officer--being alert at all times and there are times where he would be called for mission right when both of you were sleeping. For him being in a deep sleep like this, it’s kind of rare. But you appreciate all of it. Sleeping in Gavin’s embrace always feel safe and you grow addicted of having arms around your waist, as if keeping you safe, even in sleep.

Between curtains, faintly illuminating me

A white moonlight and yeah

Filling the room, even the cold air

Feels beautiful because of the light that is you

Full moon’s light up the room slightly, it shines right through Gavin’s face. Gavin always tell you that you’re beautiful, even if your mouth was full of chocolate cakes he bought for you, even if you just woke up from your sleep with a trace of drool on your chin, even if you’re crying because of the drama you watched.

“Don’t you know that you’re also beautiful?” you murmur softly, feeling Gavin’s chest rise and fall in sync with you.

You were scared of him back in high school, despite that he was always look out for you from a far. Even if Gavin was really scary at that time, him back then still had the same kindness he had today. The way he carried you when you were passed out in PE class, the way his eyes met yours when you were in library, or the times you found him climbing the old ginkgo tree outside of practice room.

The rough senior has grown into a sweet man he is today. Or maybe, he’s always this handsome from your high school years, if he’s not always covered in bandages and bruises.

I see a shifting image

We have a common dream

Even if it’s imaginary

I pretend to be okay

You probably are the same

But at the end of the day

We are together

Gavin’s line of work always makes you worry. He rarely has days off, even if he does he almost never spend it on rest, he will always spend it with you. There was time when you asked Gavin to go the shooting location at the nearby lake, knowing he was just came back from mission you told him to not come but he did come anyway.

He was visibly tired. But he came anyway.

You remembered your heart swelled when you found Gavin sleeping under the tree after the shooting’s over, waiting for you to finish. You remember you were crying when you saw a bandage peeking through his shirt. He was hurt. But still he came. You remember he woke up, panic was evident in his face as he cupped your face, apologized if he make you angry. And he was confused as you told him “Gavin, you dummy.”

The Gavin said “I come here because i miss you so much. I wanna meet you as soon as possible. Is that...is that wrong?” made you moved in to his apartment.

It’s fine if the same day repeats

Even the reversed day and night

My mind was filled waiting for you

And I’m happier for it now

Like a habit

Hug me tight

And don’t let me go, more

Take me to the dream

“...why don’t you sleep?” Gavin’s sudden question made you flinched. But Gavin held your hand in his tightly. His eyes fluttered open.

You can’t help but peck his lips.

“I don’t know, you’re too handsome when you’re sleeping..maybe?” you tease. Gavin chuckles, pinching your waist playfully. 

“But i prefer you to sleep with me.” Gavin says, kissing your eye. You nods and once again, scoot closer to him.

“I..i hope we can stay like this forever.” you say, listening to Gavin’s heartbeart.

Gavin hummed. “As much as i want that to happen, both of us are working. You have a meeting this morning too.” Gavin states the fact, making you pout.

“Gavin, you’re not fun.” you sigh, poking his chest. Gavin’s light chuckle warm your heart.

“You know, Gavin, i don’t mind waiting for you to come back home.” you say, out of the blue. Gavin hummed, waiting for you to finish. “If i can sleep in your arms again, i don’t mind waiting for you when you’re out for your missions. I do hope you won’t get hurt out there, though. My mind’s filled by waiting for you and it’s okay. I always happy when you come home.” you rambles, sleepiness is beginning to take on you.

Gavin hummed again as he traced circle on your back, as if lulling you to sleep.

“Hug me, don’t let me go.” you mumbles as you fall asleep.

Gavin kissed your forehead. “How could i? When the girl i’ve been crushing with finally with me?” he closes his eyes and drift back to sleep.

[jemej3m]

To the Good Place We Go (p.1)

part one! hope u like this crossover. hopefully it makes sense???

I read @gluupor‘s hilarious Good Place au and wanted to have a crack at my own! note to gluupor, i’ve changed things around a bit but thanks for the idea! 

link to their the good place au here:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782301

part two here: http://jemejem.tumblr.com/post/182518336942/to-the-good-place-we-go

Dan was having the worst day.

And this was the Good Place. She wasn’t supposed to have bad days. She’d spent her life trying to wade through misgivings and a lack of opportunities: Now she was dead, and she was supposed to be happy—forever!

Instead, she was staring at her living room, which was on fire, and wondered what the frick she did to deserve such bullshirt.

Neil—always, Neil—pointed at Kevin. “He did it.”

“Dan, I’m so sorry—“ Matthew Boyd begged. “I tried to get them to stop yelling, but Kevin fell back onto a candle and so Andrew went to get water to put it out, but he thought it’d be funny to pour Vodka instead—How he got Vodka, I don’t know—“

“It was me!” Nicky cheerfully chirped from the corner.

“And so Kevin was really on fire, so Allison asked Nicky to turn on the sprinklers, but not before she could ask for an umbrella, but she never specified which sprinklers, so whilst your garden is currently being nicely watered, Kevin’s whole ass is exposed and your living room is a mess!” He wore his pathetic puppy eyes, and whilst he’d been pestering her to go on a date (“We’re soulmates, Dan! Think about it! We could be happy together, forever, if you just listened to me—Hey! Where are you going—!”) He was seemingly sincere.

Kevin was sitting in a bucket of ice, teeth chattering. Neil was laying on the sofa, grinning up at Andrew, who smoked lazily. Dan hoped he hadn’t used Kevin’s fire catastrophe to light his cigarette, but knowing Andrew, he probably had.

“Oh, dear.” Renee said, softly, from Dan’s side.

Here’s how this all started:

Dan got into the Good Place. Wymack, the ever-present, genderless guardian of their neighbourhood who used he and him pronouns, F0X35, had greeted her at her initiation. She’d died in a brawl outside a strip club, her strip club. She knew she’d been protecting her fellow stage sister, but couldn’t understand how she’d ended up in the Good Place.

“Sex isn’t necessarily immoral, Danielle.” Wymack reminded her. “Neither is stripping. And saving your friend’s life with non-violent negotiations—very brave, and very effective!” They sighed. “Such a shame he had to stab you in the back out of fury as you were escorting your friend back inside. Would you like to hear a recording of how he is experiencing the Bad Place? Your friend stabbed him with your murder weapon out of anger.”

“She what?” Dan had blanched. “Is she alright?”

“Oh, she’s fine. Don’t you worry.” He huffed, arms flexing as they stood out of his chair. “Welcome to the Good Place, Danielle. Would you like a cup of coffee before Nicky escorts you to your new home?”

“But sir—“

“No buts.” Wymack pointed at her. “Tea, coffee, lemonade or scoot.”

She stood obediently, nodded in thanks and left.

She hadn’t need to worry about her unremarkably neutral life, wherein she’d done just as many shirty things as she had good things, because her soulmate—Matthew Boyd, an overbearing young man with horrifically spiked hair and pouted lips—confessed to her immediately.  

“I don’t know why I’m here.” He whispered. They were sitting together on her couch: She was in a studio-style house, with a jacuzzi and a large bed. It was sophisticated but not excessive: It was perfect. “I overdosed on drugs at a socialite’s party, with a bunch of rich shirt-heads! Oh, gosh, Wymack’s going to kick me down to the Bad Place, isn’t he?”

“Shh.” Dan hissed. “I was a stripper and totally scammed and stole from all my customers so I could support my aunt and my baby cousin, I wasn’t much better.”

Matt looked relieved. “Oh, thank gosh. I was terrified of having to keep my secret for all of eternity. This must be why we’re soulmates.”

“Because we’re shirty people in disguise.” Dan said dryly. He looked sheepish. “Whatever. Whatever’s happened, it’s probably a mix-up. Do you want to go down to the Bad Place, because I don’t. My killer is there. So keep your mouth shut.”

“Yes ma’am.” He muttered.

That was how she’d found out about Matthew. The others had all followed suit: She found Kevin and Neil trying to beat each other up in a secluded spot by the lake, yelling censored profanities at each other and insulting each other with petty accusations.

“You stole Andrew’s whisky!”

Kevin blanched, before scowling furiously. “You were there!”

Dan tore them apart physically then tore into them verbally. By the end they were sullen but quiet, and Dan walked down the lake’s jetty, her heart thudding in her chest. How many of them were frauds? The neighbourhood only had three-hundred and twenty-two of them, and she could count four that definitely didn’t qualify to be there.

Andrew sailed past the jetty she stood on, laying on his back in a little row boat. His eyes were closed, arm thrown lazily over his face. In his hand, he spun a terrifyingly sharp throwing knife.

“Interfere with my things again and I’ll get you kicked out of here.” Andrew floated away, leaving Dan struck silent.

Make that five people.

Eventually, she discovered the rest. Some, on accident: Some, like Kevin and Neil, because of truly stupid and avoidable situations. Some, like Matt and Renee, just came right out with it.

That’s how all ten of them —  Allison, because she was ‘deprived of gossip’, Renee, because she was at least somewhat moral, Matt, because Dan couldn’t shake him off her tail, Seth because he was arrogant but not stupid enough to miss this entire sham, Kevin, Andrew and Aaron, because they went everywhere together, Neil because he was like a lost puppy, and Nicky, because someone had called for him—ended up in Dan’s living room and promptly wrecked the place when she’d gone to check the perimeter for nosy neighbours.

She never remembered lighting those candles, anyway.

“Everyone,” She said, barely able to contain her anger. “Shut up. Don’t move. Or so help me, I’ll kill you all.”

“Too late.” Neil harped, before Kevin whacked him over the back of the head and he sulked into the couch.

“We’re going to figure something out, as a group, okay?” She insisted. “Okay?”  

They mumbled in assent.

Dan sighed. If all the shirt she’d endured in her short life hadn’t aged her, trying to conceal eight people’s true moral standings so that they wouldn’t be struck from a peaceful afterlife surely would.

Welcome to the forking Good Place.

“Now, Renee, do you understand?”

She nodded. “Ingenious, really, sir.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fortunately for you, Renee, much of your reformation happened whilst on earth. The others didn’t get that chance, so it will take much longer for them to come forward about their true moral standings. You must not tell them that it’s a test, okay?”

“Okay.” She promised. “I hope they succeed.”

This was honest, as Renee stood by honesty: She had confronted Wymack on her first morning, after their introductory seminar in the town square, telling him her true upbringing, her crimes and her regrets. He had smiled with relief and sat her down in his office to explain the truth: A select group were all unqualified for the Good Place, but could earn their spot if dedicated enough. He’d known about her all along.

“I hope you all do.” Wymack confirmed. “This—Middle Place Project—Nicky!”

Nicky popped up from behind the desk, next to Wymack. Renee smiled at him and he waved, curls bouncing. “Yes, sir?”

“From now on, we’re referring to F-0-X-3-5 as MPP, for efficiency purposes, and also to keep it discreet. Also, tick off Renee Walker’s name from MRPFMPPL1.”

“What does that mean?” Renee inquired.

“Moral Rehabilitation Process For Middle Place Project List 1.” Wymack frowned. “That is a bit much, isn’t it. Nicky, change all the MRPFMPPL’s to just Test and whatever number it is.”

“Of course!” And then he disappeared again.

It was an odd thing, the afterlife. And while Renee had placed all her faith in God, she wasn’t disappointed to find a non-denominational place for a peaceful existence after death. Besides, Wymack was practically at the bottom of the chain in regards to omnipotent guardians.

He turned back to her. “Where were we?”

“Discussing the Middle Place Project.” She reminded him. “You were saying you hope we all succeed.”

“Right, right. Well, my superiors think it’s a bad idea. They’re a bit old-fashioned: Everything’s black and white for them: There’s no such thing as second, third, fourth chances, not for lost causes. Sound familiar?”

She nodded.

“We’re working on it, but it’s not your concern. Okay?”

“Okay.” She promised. His words were always soothing, so any unrest she felt was immediately eased.

“Alright, well, that should be everything.” He stood. “Get lost, Walker, and have fun.”

She hesitated by the door. “Wymack?”

He looked up at her from the papers on his desk. They hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Hm?”

“Do you believe in lost causes?”

He paused. A tiny smiled appeared. “Is there anything else worth believing in?”

She beamed and closed the door behind her.

Andrew wasn’t interested in his own wellbeing, but he’d promised Kevin that he wouldn’t let Riko take him down to the Bad Place, and he’d promised to always stand by Aaron’s side. Turns out Walker — not-so-innocent Walker — had beat him in Wymack’s honesty race.

Andrew had planned on telling him about his mother, the four homophobes at the bar, the arson and thievery, the violence. That’d surely get him sent to the Bad Place, where he’d wipe Kevin and Aaron’s names from record and then get to spend the rest of eternity being the Devil’s incarnate, or whatever.

So when Wymack had congratulated him, called his pet robot to strike his name off the list and informed him that it was all a stupid forking test, he’d felt a flicker of rage—towards himself, for not suspecting this.

Then his attention turned elsewhere. “Just me and Walker, right?”

“Correct.” Wymack nodded.

“So can you tell me about Neil?”

Wymack frowned. “What about him?”

“Well, he’s a liar and a threat.” Andrew said, petulantly.  

“Is this because he’s your soulmate?” Wymack furrowed his brows. “I understand that with your past, such an intimate proposition might be intimidating, but I assure you that—“

What? Neil, his soulmate?

Irrelevant. Not true. Andrew didn’t have a soul, so how could he have a soulmate? He flung the fleeting idea aside and bludgeoned on. “No, I’m saying that Neil’s a threat to the safety of this whole fricking mission of yours and if you got your stupid fricking omnipotent head out of your frigid ash, you’d see the same. Ash. You know I’m trying to say ash, not ash. Fork.”

Wymack shook his head. “You’re not the boss here, Andrew. Okay? Leave me to worry about these things. Talk to Nicky about talking to someone, wont you? Trauma is best dealt with through professional therapeutic techniques.”

Andrew bristled, standing up.

“Storming out is very immature!” Wymack called.

“Fork you!” He yelled back.

So Wymack had given him a non-discreet warning to leave the problems to him, but since when had Andrew ever obeyed a request, or failed a promise? Never. And he wasn’t going to start now, not even in death. So he decided to take care of Neil himself.

Step one: Intimidate.

Glaring didn’t work. They were all standing around, socialising from behind glasses of champagne. Andrew let his eyes linger on Neil’s lithe form, the high cheekbones. And yet, when Neil noticed Andrew’s heavy stare, he simply rose his eyebrows up as a challenge.

He tried a more tactical method, being, shoving Neil up against a white-and-gold patterned wall in an abandoned corridor—who’s house was this, anyway?—his forearm against Neil’s throat.

“You’re not meant to be here.” He hissed, leaning in close enough that their noses were practically brushing.

“Really?” Neil snapped. “What about you, murderer?”

The accusation slid off Andrew like water off laminated paper, so he bared his teeth and leaned impossibly closer. “All bark, no bite, rabbit.”

“Rabbits don’t bark.” Neil’s lips curled up, ever so slightly.

Andrew shoved off him and made himself scarce.

So. Intimidating didn’t work. He moved onto step two: Investigating.

Nicky was useless, smiling in a way that made Andrew want to pull his teeth out and shove them into his eyes. “I can’t reveal personal information about other residents. I can, however, provide you with a Wikipedia page.”

Neil Josten.

It came up with nothing.

“Thanks for nothing.” He said, dryly.

“You’re welcome!” He beamed, before disappearing again. Good lot of help that was.

So, once again, he upped the theatrics. Nicky, though disapproving, gave him a dozen sachets of cracker dust. It was only a matter of time before Allison hosted another stupid party, as though she was trying to better her parents in the afterlife. Ridiculous.

“A drink?” Nicky offered him. He was deliberately standing by Neil, who was refusing to admit his discomfort and move away. Stubborn little shirt.

“Whisky.” He hooked a finger under Neil’s chin. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’ll get a soda.” Andrew amended.

Neil frowned. “Why are you being nice?”

“Got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we? Wouldn’t want to continue our eternal partnership as soulmates hacking at each others throats, would we?”

The colour drained from Neil’s cheeks. “We’re what?”

Nicky appeared with the two drinks: Andrew intercepted, a sachet ready in his palm, and handed Neil the soda. It was still swirling around its glass when he took a massive gulp, positively shaken by Andrew’s admission.

“You seem shaken, Neil.” Andrew leaned forward. “Didn’t think a monster such as myself could have a soulmate? That’s very hypocritical, if my suspicions about you are correct.”

He drained the glass in an attempt to avoid answering Andrew’s pestering, but he was already wobbling on his feet. A secure arm around the waist kept him upright until they’d found themselves in what looked exactly identical to wherever they were before; Allison’s place was a fucking maze.

“What did you do!” Neil spluttered, furious. Scratching at his skin, his voice became hysterical and  breathing became laboured. “I forking swear to gosh, I’ll kill you, I will—“

“What are you doing here, Neil?” Andrew demanded. “Are you from the Bad Place? Trying to drag us all back down there?”

“You think I’m a mole?” He said, incredulous. He was readily turning a putrid shade of green. Andrew wondered if what Nicky gave him was actually cracker dust. Could have been asbestos. cyanide, maybe even ground up Lucky Charms: There was no way of telling. “Are you out of your Gosh-darned mind, you psychotic forking midget?”

He was the midget? Neil was only three inches taller. Andrew leaned into his ear. “Give me one good reason to let you stay, and I’ll back off. Clear?”

“I’m going to be sick.” Neil moaned, shoving weakly at Andrew.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Then he left, leaving a very poorly and bewildered Neil alone. There would always be another day: This was the afterlife, after all. This was eternal.

What he wasn’t expecting was Neil Josten in all his blatant honesty, sitting on the roof of his own house at sunset. He had two cigarettes on hand, offering one to Andrew and looking out wistfully over the rolling fields and fellow neighbour’s abodes.

This house was identical to Cass’s. It was meant to be all his, empty of his old demons and offering only the best memories. If only Andrew’s mind was remotely functional: Then he would be able to isolate the good and the bad, and be able to live in peace under this roof. Except he couldn’t, so he had to stare at a forking muffin tray and think about the time his foster brother forked him half to death.  

It’s why he had a hammock drawn up between two trees at the bottom of his garden. He was creating a nice little space for himself, behind a large bush that obstructed the house from view.

“I don’t really know why I’m so terrified of the truth when I’m already dead.” Neil said, thoughtfully. “I suppose I’m scared of meeting my father again if I’m sent down there. He’s the one who killed me, by the way. What am I saying—I know I’ll see him again. He’s my worst nightmare. He’s bad enough that they probably promoted him in anticipation of my arrival.”

“Why are you telling me this.” Andrew said flatly, despite the leap of his heart.

Neil shrugged, eyes cast downwards. “I know you wont turn me in. I don’t know how I know, or why I’m so sure, but I just—“ He waved his hands around. “I don’t forking know.”

Andrew could attest to that. Nodding, they smoked in agreeable silence. What was surprising was the weight of—could it be—guilt? It pressed down on his shoulders, and he hated. So he straightened up, looked right at the sun like he was never able to on Earth, and said; “Truth for truth. This house is a replica of my almost adoptive family’s home. I hate it.”

Neil was looking at him. Andrew hated that too. Why was it, that when they had all of eternity stretched out in front of them, he felt like spilling every secret he’d withheld on Earth? It made no sense. This made no sense. Neil made no sense.

Especially when he said; “So come stay at mine.”

So, yeah. Neil’s strange brand of honesty shocked Andrew enough for him to forget that nothing ever took him by surprise. But only for a moment. And yes, his devastatingly sharp cheekbones and incredibly blue eyes were horrible and Andrew hated every atom of Neil’s being, but he found himself smoking in silence beside the young man and finding it—comfortable.

As far as he knew, it was still just him and Renee who had confronted Wymack. A few weeks had to have passed since, but Andrew had no way of knowing the time or date, so he couldn’t say for sure. What he could say was that Wymack was frustratedly pacing grooves into the carpets of his office, waiting for one of them to step forward and prove their integrity. Neil was a jumble of lies and dead-ends, and the only thing he’d come clean about were his motives for staying in this place.

Neil would be the last to confess to Wymack. Andrew was sure of it.

Which was why, when Neil stood up at a neighbourhood meeting, Andrew’s entire being came to a grinding holt

He had the sun illuminating a red halo from above, the ferocity of his gaze intense and determined.

“I don’t belong here.” Neil admitted, in front of dozens and dozens of people. “I’m not who you think I am, and I don’t belong here.”

Oh, Andrew thought. Fork you, Neil.

hope u enjoyed!

[revoevokukil]

Carol’s Journey - i.e. “what makes a hero”

Got to thinking about the way Carol gets her powers and how it all ties together into her "hero's journey".

It’s a fairly simple story, actually, and has a fairly simple message, but it has lots of details. In short, you own yourself – the good, the bad, the awkward -, and there’s power in that knowledge, because there’s no other you and really no one to depend upon for growth but yourself.

(Unless there’s a Skrull, then things get a little bit awkward.)

And, by the way, if you do not grow as fast or as effectively as possible, then ask yourself whose standards are you following – your own? That’s your chosen suffering then. Someone else’s? Fuck that.

But anyway, to the beginning:

-----

* Carol chooses to shoot at the engine - realistically, a certain death for her. But she makes the choice, because Yon-Rogg hesitates on shooting her first and so, she decides to destroy the engine as Mar-Vell wished, take out the pilot who shot her down, and sacrifice herself in the process. A conscious choice. It is a stroke of luck, an accident, that she does not die outright during the explosion. Since they did not make her half-Kree pre-accident, there is a “divine intervention” motif at play here. She doesn’t choose to get that power, but she chose to face whatever the outcome of her action. What does this situation betray about her character?

1. She is **very** *loyal* to *people* – Wendy Lawson is revealed to be not what she seems, but she has trusted Carol and given her the opportunity to fly and to realise her goals as a pilot at a time when, as a woman, she could only dream of it. So Carol trusts her in return. Mar-Vell’s noble aim “ending wars, not winning them” is left vague in essence, and I don’t see how a lightspeed engine can actually end the Kree-Skrull war (just help the Skrull refugees escape the boundaries of the Kree empire, I suppose), but for idealistic Earthlings it is enough. So much enough, in fact, that it is worth self-sacrifice in the name something Carol has no stake in, no knowledge of, and no reason to even believe she has the right information about. She makes that choice purely out of loyalty to a woman she admires and appreciates.

2. She is ready to give a quintessential “fuck you!” out of spite.               

3. She is ready for self-sacrifice (much like Captain America and the grenade scene) and has a high degree of fearlessness in the face of death.

Her power isn’t given to her as a result of her “deserving it”, or her “being born with it”, or her “building it” for herself. It’s a stroke of serendipity – but a pretty brutally fatal one if left unattended, much like “being born” is, if you think about it.

----

* Discovering that she is still alive and glowing now (seriously, angel on a lake shore imagery with haunting music – anyone?), Yon-Rogg decides to take her to Hala, and from that point onwards we do not exactly know what all happens to her, but we can make some educated guesses as things start to get twisted. For starters, you can bet on a life threatening/unstable condition/injuries. The Kree, before they can do anything else about her, must first ensure that Carol lives. Arguably, it is not likely that Carol would have even survived had they left her on Earth in 1989 given our lack of experience (the technology Mar-Vell was developing is alien and not of medical purpose).

   We know from Agents of Shield that Kree blood can resurrect the dead. We do not know if she ever goes into clinical death. Regardless, medical intervention is needed, and the blood transfusion Carol receives from Yon-Rogg therefore saves her life. Since by the beginning of the film Carol has not an inkling that she could be anything but Kree, the amount of blood that is given to her must be enough to eventually replace the entire human blood supply – which also implies that genetic modifications are made. Her superior healing factor, agility, strength, life span, endurance, resistance – they all come from the Kree. In fact, you could almost say, the Kree with their superior genetics build within her a framework in which her cosmic powers can be utilised. No wonder Yon-Rogg seems to feel like Carol “belongs to him”.

----

* We know that by the beginning of the film, Carol thinks she is Kree, is happy being Kree, and finds the idea that she can be anything but Kree ridiculous (minus the dreams she starts having about an emotional beacon (I’ll return to that) in her past, and even then – Wendy Lawson looks much like a pink Kree). Did the explosion also wipe her memory, or did the Kree lose her all the, what, 27(?) years of her life? They replace some key details in the incident in the process, obviously, to cover their tracks and make her “rebirth” relatively “painless.”

   But also. We know from Agents of Shield that Kree blood can have some unfortunate side-effects (e.g. psychosis). Did it? Did it not? We don’t know – but it’s relatively safe to assume that at least in the very beginning, the disk on Carol’s neck is installed as much in order to protect her and those in her immediate surroundings from herself (control over powers like these is not a thing you learn overnight) as it is later in the plot meant to keep her powers monitored and in check by the Supreme Intelligence. It creates a relationship of dependency beyond that of her memory loss. Infantilization, I’d say. Protection, they’d say. It’s an age old tale with suffocating parents and partners. SI even plays god by letting Carol believe ALL of her powers have been given to her by the Kree. Much like my teacher once let me know that my life belongs to my parents (in the context of Crime and Punishment and Raskolnikov’s suicidal thoughts).

   When the Supreme Intelligence calls it “rebirth”, however, it is quite accurate, since our long term memory essentially shapes and forms who we are as human beings. There is nothing more important to one’s identity, sense of belonging, and understanding of the world than that. Therefore, the loss of it is one of the most disturbing experiences to happen.

Her origins is no longer a matter of a lucky outcome to a deadly choice, but a gradual, thought-through intervention based on the choices of others. (you are born, you are handed over to the society) She is not fully human anymore, but part Kree biologically and fully Kree in her mind to her limited knowledge at the time. And that’s how it stays for a good 6 years.

-----

* Now, before the end, there is another very important link that ties it all together. Let’s look at “sense of belonging.”

   We don’t know too much about Carol’s social life before the accident, but enough to see that she has strong ties with her best friend Maria and that she is otherwise quite a wild soul, who has followed her own path and torn herself away from her father and her “natural” family. It mirrors what she will later build up for herself among the Kree – Starforce is Vers’ family; given her memory loss, it’s even more than that - it is all she has. Her only strongest reference frame as opposed to the many different ones she doubtless picks up during her life on Earth.

   Given how messy an amnesiac’s life is, it is natural to look for the reassurance and ties to ground you. In this respect, her being part of the military and Kree’s collectivism-oriented mindset really helps along with the lie Yon-Rogg and the SI are telling her. “We embraced you.” “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Vers. Together.” But the phantom pain is all there and becomes properly revealed on Earth when Carol finally listens to Talos. She sympathises so deeply with Talos and the Skrulls by the end of the film, because they have undergone loss the magnitude of which she can relate to. Yet, when Talos implores her to help them after she has listened to the recording of the black box, she still utters “you will destroy us” – with the “us” being the Kree. Even though it is dawning on her that she has lived happily in the middle of a lie for years, it is still the strongest identity she has, since her memories of Earth seem to remain far and few in-between.

   After multiple viewings, I am more and more convinced that by the end of the film, Carol does not regain ALL of her memories, but only those relating to the day of the accident and memories relating to strong emotional beacons (e.g. Maria and Monica, flight school, childhood struggle). That is a depressing amount of damage done. Carol, at the end of the film, looks haunted and not instantaneously “healed” despite reconnecting with her humanity and the self she, and not anyone else, fashions for herself. She nevertheless does not feel completely like she "belongs" even though she knows that she has people on Earth who love her. She is Carol Danvers from Earth, but the stronger memories are the ones untouched by the memory loss – the ones she has formed during the past 6 years. There is a strong sense of internal conflict there. But she can only move forward, and so she does by doing what she thinks is best at the time – help those who have captured her sympathy. In the process she is also drawing fire away from those on Earth, by taking her now not so unknown self elsewhere in the galaxy.

Again, Carol is loyal. To people and individuals. She fixes things in the external world very much based on the outcomes of her internal struggles. Much like Iron Man in that sense.

So how does her journey in the film end?

----

* When Carol ‘gets in touch with her humanity’, she, in fact, takes back power from the Supreme Intelligence in the sense of choosing her own narrative. “Without us, you are only human” the Supremor says, but for Carol that’s a source of faith in herself; her life narrative is to fall, be denied, and get back up again “because fuck you!” She has better grasp now, again, of why she is the way she is. She is flawed, she still doesn’t actually fully know how to control her powers, but she sure as shit knows that she will never be able to control them or be this happy coincidence that she is if she is not even allowed to explore what she is and is capable of to its fullest. To take a quote from *Celebrity Skin* that plays during end credits – “*I’m all I want to be, a walking study in demonology.*”

   A bit of a freak accident, but so what? Let’s deal with it and get on with things.

Carol’s journey returns to the original source of her powers: we are shaped, at the very start, by a series of natural accidents, then by forces and decision makers beyond our control, but that does not rob us of choice and self-affirmation. It is hard to be honest with oneself, and it is hard to draw willpower from the knowledge that “you are what you are – and that is just fine.”

Supreme Intelligence and Yon-Rogg may have “saved her” and honed her, but they cannot contain her. What happens to her is ultimately down to her choices – and that’s how her peculiar situation and, dare I say it, “human mentality” clashes the heaviest with the Kree’s collectivism.

She *belongs to herself and with herself*, first and foremost.

And that self-possession is a source of necessary self-knowledge and power to be a hero.

[leta-the-strange]

yay! newt/leta first kiss? preferably hogwarts era.

Oh, cute! Thanks for this one. I know its a bit long but I always get carried away :(  I still have two in my inbox to get through but feel free to send me more Leta prompts/hcs/ships. 

“I can’t believe Professor Dumbledore is letting us dothis!” Newt exclaimed with excitement, getting his head stuck in his shirt inhis hasty attempt to pull it off without undoing all the buttons.

Leta chuckled and helped pull it over his head. Shehad moments ago shrugged out of her own uniform that she had worn over the topof her emerald green school issued swimsuit and was wrapped up in her navy robe whilethey waited for the rest of the class to make their way down to the Great Lake.

She threw his clothes over the branch her own shirt, tie,vest and tartan skirt were hanging from. “I’m not awfully surprised,” she digressed.“Dumbledore has always possessed the inane ability to get his students to dohis bidding by framing it as a fun exercise.”

“Well, even so…” Newt said, aware of the distrust thatradiated from his best friend toward his favourite teacher. “…at least we’re notstuck in the classroom all day.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she mumbled unconvincingly andher shaky hand starting fiddling with the clasp of her robe. 

Newt wanted tokick himself.

He had been so eager at the prospect of looking for Grindylows thathe had not thought how terrified Leta must feel about having to go so deep inthe water. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t made progress through the years. The firsttime he noticed her, at the young age of eleven, she had been surrounded by somesnickering students and an out of his depth groundskeeper, huddled on the groundwith her hands over her ears, sobbing and shaking and absolutely hysterical atthe idea of having to get into one of the boats that traditionally carried thefirst years across the lake to the castle. For a while, she would sit under thetrees if he decided to walk or swim in the lake, slowly getting closer to theedge each time until, one year, the giant squid he had been petting tenderlywrapped one of its tentacles around her ankle and dragged her in too. He had hastilypulled her up and was surprised to find her laughing joyfully and since thenshe would join him, provided he held her hand or she gripped on to his arm. Sofar, the deepest she’d managed was up to her waist which wouldn’t be any helpto her in today’s exercise.

He noticed her other hand was clasped tightly in afist and he quickly took it in his own before her fingernails could cut anydeeper into her palm again. He made a mental note to swipe some dittany fromProfessor Prendergast’s stores later that night.

“I’ve got a plan!” he announced staring back out overthe lake.

“How many detentions can we expect from this plan?”she quipped, holding her wand between her lips while she pinned her hair out of her face. “Obviously, I’m in but I need to shift my timetable around if we’readding more punishments into the week on top of the regular ones.”

“A plan for Dumbledore’s challenge today,” hecontinued. “I’m going to have jellylegs after swimming and catching the littlebugger so if you wait by the waters edge, you can run him to Dumbledore.”

Leta doe-eyes looked both in awe and full of sorrow asshe stared up at him and she squeezed his hand appreciatively. She cleared herthroat and quickly snapped back to her playful self.

“Well, at least I’ll see you coming!” she jested athis Hufflepuff yellow swimsuit.

Their laughter was interrupted by the raucous noise oftheir Defense Against the Dark Arts class whooping and yelling as they tumbleddown toward the lake with Professor Dumbledore strolling along behind them.

Newt angled himself between Leta and a group of Gryffindorsthat had set their sights on her from the moment they had seen her panic attackin first year as well. He felt Leta’s hand go slack, but he kept ittightly clasped within his. For a long time, he assumed her always sidling awayfrom him around people was because someone like her would be embarrassed to beseen with the likes of him but eventually, and far more horrifyingly,discovered it was because she felt far too poisonous to inflict herself on him especiallyin front of other students who may turn their attention to him as well. And ofcourse, he wouldn’t let that stand.

Leta used her free hand to wrap her robe more tightlyaround her as they smirked and leered at her like a dugbog hungrily seeking outa mandrake.

“Good afternoon,” Professor Dumbledore said cheerily,planting himself in the middle of the hostility. “As most of you have rememberedkeenly it seems, I’m in need of a Grindylow for my third-year class and thoughtit may be a great opportunity for you guys to dabble in some field work. As Isaid at the end of our last lesson, the first pair to stun and retrieve a Grindylowwill get a little prize. I have been able to procure some Gillyweed for thetask.”

There was a scuffle as the teenagers tried to pair upand Dumbledore peered around knowing that the class was an odd number, but hiseyes fell on Newt and Leta who had made no movement at all as the classshuffled around.

“Ah, Miss Lestrange, Mr Scamander,” he smiled at them.“Maybe we should give the other students a fighting chance this time and splityou both up. Just for fun.”

Just for fun?! Newt thought in horror andheld on to her tighter.

“Everett!” Dumbledore clapped and saw that theextremely competitive Hufflepuff Beater had been the left-over student which hewasn’t even offended by since he was very self-aware of his win or die trying attitude.

Newt sighed in relief knowing that Everett, unlike manyof his fellow House members, had no problem with Leta. He occasionally talkedto her when Leta came to watch Newt practice with the Quidditch team and evensourced a spare Hufflepuff scarf for her to wear during games. Everett would haveno problem leaving Leta up here if it bettered his chances of winning.

“We’ll show some House solidarity and spirit today. Newtand Everett, you can join up and Leta, if you’d like to tack on the end of a Slytherinpair.”

The Slytherins in their class were not as outwardlycruel to Leta as some students from other House were but instead showed theirdisdain, and slight fear, of her through avoiding or ignoring her entirely as if she were something particularly unpleasant.  

“I’ll go by myself if it’s all the same, Professor,”Leta said blankly and Newt turned to stare at her disbelievingly, but she smiledreassuringly at him.

“That would be fine, if that is what you’d prefer,”Dumbledore granted cheerfully and went about recapping all they had learnedabout Grindylows in their previous lessons and handing out portions of theslimy looked plant.  

Newt used the opportunity to turn to Leta with panicin his eyes. “You-you can’t go by yourself!”

“I won’t be,” she countered. “You’ll be down theretoo.”  

He couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest when shesaid that so trustingly, but it did little to ease his own worries.

“Only if you’re sure, you can stick with Everett and I,but if you start to feel-”

“Uh,” she frowned but her smile was playful as she bitinto the Gillyweed. “So, you can both steal my glory when I catch the Grindylow? No way, Scamander.”

Newt scoffed and took a section for himself. “You’rehardly serious, right now.”

“We’ll see, I suppose,” she sighed and took off herrobe. “But remember, you’ve already divulged all your weakness to the enemy,Jellylegs, with no idea of my capabilities.”  

“That’s true, you do have the upper hand in someareas. You could always annoy the Grindylow until it lets up and just goes withyou,” Newt teased as he felt the gills start to spread across his neck.

Everett clapped approvingly as he jogged over to them,luckily for Newt, who had only just caught himself before he could tell Leta shelooked very pretty as her own gills blossomed across her neck and cheeks thoughshe had fortunately been examining the webbing between her fingers to notice him staring. 

“Yes! Finally, the Slytherin vs Hufflepuff showdown we’veall been waiting for,” he pitched as he dragged Newt away to the starting area.“The day has finally come where we find out who the superior budding magizoologistis.”

For all the tactics Everett had attempted to drillinto a preoccupied and inattentive Newt, the spirited and muscular Beater was swiftlyleft behind as he was easily the slowest swimmer of the lot. Newt naturallylooked around for Leta, but the sunlight only cast an eerily glow no further thana few feet in front of him even with the help of the Gillyweed.

He couldn’t see the particularly vicious group of Gryffindorseither which made his heart start to race but before he could panic, he decidedhe had a far better chance tracking a Grindylow and getting this whole ordealover with before anything bad could happen.

It didn’t take long at all for him to find the one hehad been tracking, tangled among roots and stems looking characteristicallydisgruntled. Newt apologetically cast a stunning spell at the creature but wincedwhen the poor thing was hit in the back at the same time by the same red jet oflight that Newt had cast at it. Newt glanced around to see who had cast the samespell and he was drawn to the blurry image of Leta who had been tracking thecreature from the opposite direction. It took her a little longer to noticewhere the other stunning spell had come from but her eyes widened when theyfell on Newt and he was about to motion if she was okay when she started swimmingquickly toward the stunned Grindylow.

He grinned and started kicking as fast he could aswell. Unfortunately for Leta, Newt was a good head taller than her and was ableto stretch out twice as far despite her head start. He reached out and Leta’s hand,a fraction of a second too late, came down on top of his as he grabbed theGrindylow. He beamed across at her with a triumphant smirk that saw her eyesnarrow and her nose crinkle up in a scowl that would look no more threateningon a baby mooncalf. With the hand covering his on the Grindylow, she threaded theirfingers together as best as she could manage with the webbing and yanked himforward with such force, he thought she was trying to headbutt him when shegently pressed her lips to his.

If he could muster a coherent thought he would wonderif he had been hit with a stunning spell, or perhaps the Gillyweed was wearingoff, either way he was completely frozen and it felt like all the air had disappearedfrom his body and even if he had not been floating in the lake, it still would’vefelt like he had been un-anchored from the earth. The situation finally washed through him and he felt so foolish for wasting what was, in reality, likelyonly a second or two frozen like the Grindylow between them.

Newt lifted his hand to weave through her floatinghair, or brush against her jaw, he hadn’t quite decided yet, and he leanedcloser to press into her kiss, clumsily squishing their noses together, but he felther smile against his lips before he got the chance to return her ministrationsand ended up kissing her teeth. A stream of bubbles escaped her mouth when shelaughed victoriously as she tugged the Grindylow from below his slackened hand,which he had sought to appoint to the far more important task of holding her faceinstead and kicked her way to the top of the lake leaving him floating dumbfoundedby himself.

“What happened?!” Everett rounded on Newt as theywalked back to the castle. “You were ahead! Then you were just floating about!” 

“Lestrange probably used Stupefy on him,” one of the Hufflepuffs muttered behindthem and a few nodded in agreement much to his annoyance but Everett let out asnort before Newt could turn around.

“Stupefy,” Everett scoffed. “Yeah, stunned bysomething alright but not by Lestrange’s wand.As if she would harm a single hair on his head…A sad day for Hufflepuff today,one of our own thwarted by the likes of pretty, Slytherin girl.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty, Polkinghorne?” Leta exclaimedteasingly as she caught up with them. She had put her robe back on, but she wasstill dripping wet and Newt muttered a drying spell that made her hair twice asbig once he was finished.

“No,” Everett said curtly. “I think Scamander thinksyou’re pretty, but don’t let that get to your head either, Lestrange, he calleda Flobberworm ‘pretty girl’ the other day in Herbology.”

The other Hufflepuffs departed, shaking their head atNewt as they passed.

“Well, we certainly have something to discuss…”

Leta wentstraight into defence.

“What?! I’m sorry! It’s not fair that you’re alreadythe size of a Quidditch goalpost! That has no bearing at whether I’m better atzoology and tracking than you.”

“Mmm, but you using your…” he awkwardly gestured toher entire being. “…is?”

“Yes, actually. If you’re so easily distracted thanyou’re going to get gobbled up by a Kelpie or barbequed by a Hungarian Horntail.If anything, you should be thanking me. I don’t know why you’re so scandalisedactually, I am a Slytherin, you know. Resourcefulness.And it was a risk on my behalf, too, you know. Do you know Wesley Cavanaugh wasright behind you?”

The image of Leta, suspended under the lake in dappledsunlight with her hair floating like a siren around her while pressing sweet, tentativekisses to Wesley Cavanaugh’s lips nearly unglued him but he shook the thoughtaway and put his hands on her shoulders.

“If you would slow down, what I wanted to discuss was…you were under the lake!”

She looked as though she might ascend as Newt staredat her in awe and pride.

“I know,” she exhaled, in shock herself. “I’m postponingthe panic attack I’ve been on the verge of the past half an hour until I replenishmy blood sugar and then it’s just going to be tears and screaming for about anhour and then I’ll be good.”

“Okay,” Newt chuckled and led her down the corridor. “Well,then lets find some cauldron cakes and then go down to the Quidditch pitch andscream for a while.”

[gtbuilders]

Invest for an Early Retirement | Good Time Builders

“Retirement is a time to experience a fulfilling life derived from many enjoyable and rewarding activities” – Ernie J Zelinski…….very rightly said. Retirement should not be the end of the road. It should be the beginning of an open00 highway. Usual retirements are in 60s and they will be well planned but if one plans for an early retirement, then conditions and planning will have to be different. One has to plan properly and invest for an early retirement.

TABLE OF CONTENT

1. Where to Invest

2. Plan Well for Early Retirement

3. Admirable Ventures of Good Time Builders  

   3.1. Lake Side Enclave

  3.2. Waterfront Villas

  3.3. Good Time Residence

4. Hit the Bullseye

1. Where to Invest

Early retirement cannot be an overnight miracle. Actually after retirement one should be dare enough to live the life one has dreamt of. One should be in a position to move forward and fulfill all those desires which were left behind in the struggle of life, and for all these one need to invest so that a flow of regular income is generated.

Real estate has always been a great option of investment; it will prove so even if it is an early retirement. Real estate investment can generate ongoing passive income in the form of rental income. It can also be a good long term investment as the value of the asset increases in due course of time. When you decide to invest in real estate, then what can be better than investing in the affordable and comfortable ventures of Good Time Builders! This is a reputed company that has carved its name in real estate. It is one of the best builders and developers of real estate industry.

2. Plan Well for Early Retirement

Retiring early from work life and also meeting the life goals and staying on course after retirement are two sides of the coin. One has to plan perfectly for all the expenses that he has to face after the early retirement because it brings with it the challenges of meeting life goals such as the education of the children, their weddings along with the usual expenses of life, not to mention the emergencies that would pop-up due to adverse health conditions. So if you can invest in real estate, be it residential or commercial from where you can get a regular income as rent, would probably be a better deal. One can also add to the income by investing in real estate of futuristic locations and gain healthy returns over a period of time. There are numerous opportunities to make money. One has to explore and reach your hand to grab the opportunity. One such opportunity is to invest in the ventures of Good Time Builders if you are planning for an early retirement.

3. Admirable Ventures of Good Time Builders  

Over the years, real estate investment has been a preferred choice of many. One can invest in real estate for higher returns. It is a tangible and a safe asset. It gives the best returns than other investments without any fear of losses. The assets generate life-long returns and ROI is also exceptionally good. Good Time Builders have their ventures at Patancheru, Isnapur and Sainikpuri.

3.1. Lake Side Enclave

Lake Side Enclave at Isnapur can be a perfect choice to invest if you are planning for an early retirement.  Isnapur is in close proximity to Patancheru Industrial area, Asian Paints, Agarwal Rubber Limited, Paragon Polymer Products etc. A lot of Tech Parks like Meenakshi Tech Park, SBR Siri Tech Park, Tech Cadenza etc. lie in the vicinity of Isnapur.  Lake-Side Enclave is a prestigious residential gated community with 2BHK units and 3 BHK apartments exhibiting an extraordinary blend of luxury and elegance. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city, this ultra-modern- lush green project is an amalgamation of Premium Units and elite apartments. These Units and Apartments are built to offer an ultimate lifestyle that can refresh the mind and soul. This project has elite amenities that provide ample comfort and an excellent infrastructure. Landscapes and gardens make the area serene and spread beauty to the surroundings and also purify the air. This is a perfect place to live life after an early retirement or to make it a source of rental income.

3.2. Waterfront Villas

Located at Patancheru, these luxurious 3 BHK duplex villas are spread over 6 acres of land. Ornamented with chic amenities, these villas offer a lifestyle that is packed with health, elitism, luxury and elegance. The top notch amenities and  well designed architecture makes these 94 units chic and stylish. An exclusive club house pockets a number of outdoor and indoor sports to maintain a healthy lifestyle. Landscape gardens add to aesthetics and provide a lush green environment. One gets to breathe only pure air, with no pollution in it. Lavish Waterfront Villas is a creditable accomplishment of Good Time Builders. This gated community is centrally located and enjoys proximity to prime locations.

3.3. Good Time Residence

Located in Sainikpuri, Good Time Residence has the most well-designed accommodation plan for a comfortable living. Designed perfectly, these 8 units enclose ample natural light and ventilation. As there are less number of units, life at this venture is like living in a cozy corner with ultimate privacy. This is a much sought-after residential address, listing it as one of the up market housing localities.

One can invest in any of these or all of these ventures if you are planning for an early retirement because all these ventures are at locations with futuristic potential, in a serene and quiet atmosphere with no pollution and can fetch handsome returns as well as rental income.

4. Hit the Bullseye

Not every realty hotspot has the luxury to afford an appreciation in price. That is the reason the location of a venture should have futuristic potential. The ventures of Good Time Builders are not only selected in locations with futuristic potential but also create a qualitative value par excellence. This company is experienced and farsighted in planning, design and infrastructure development and known for its benchmark quality, responsible ethics, and customer-centric approach. They have created a unique niche and have created ventures that assure superior standard, quality, reliability and durability. Hit the Bullseye by investing in the ventures of Good Time Builders. They have projects ranging from affordable housing to commercial properties, so one gets ample choice to select from the various ventures as an investment for an early retirement.

The ventures of Good Time Builders are in the promising areas of Hyderabad where development is on the rise or the areas are very well developed. Infrastructure of Hyderabad is the reason behind the prodding of price growth. There are planned infrastructural developments and the Metro Rail project has acted like a game changer. This is the second largest Metro Rail Network in India and has contributed to great extent in the appreciation of prices. Not only the values of the properties but also the rental values have seen a surge.   Even the quality of life is affordable and one of the best in India. The atmosphere of Hyderabad is comparatively cleaner than other mega cities of India and Good Time Builders is one of the reputed companies in Hyderabad. Invest in the ventures of Good Time Builders if you are planning for an early retirement and enjoy your life after retirement.

[handstiedrp]

while picturesque and painted perfect, spectracy is a town steadily darkening.

something isn't right beneath the surface, and sharp secrets are spun between local businesses and bustling eateries.

                    (  below you will find an extensive list of various                         establishments + businesses offering jobs to those in town. )

                             PUBLIC SERVICE

SPECTRACY TOWN HALL

this is the beating, blistering and bleeding heart of spectracy itself. (notice the splintering silence and the secrets spun into the spiderweb that clings to the mayor’s shelf.) and in the end, there is something about a historic building such as this: its production of moonlit oaths to bestow upon the residents each opportunity that they’ve killed for and craved, but tragically missed. (”vote voclain!”, everyone cheers.) but do you ever wonder within the shadowed truths that stick between the teeth and never spill past the lips?: mayor voclain has held the throne for years and years and years. surely, this is a spider-spun piece of a puzzle that no longer fits.

SPECTRACY SHERIFF OFFICE

crawling with ever-increasing cold cases and missing persons reports, the department is finding itself both overworked and understaffed. “honestly, they’re a joke,” susan -- at the last weekend barbecue -- had laughed. but if they can’t protect us from what lies beyond white picket fences (hungry and ravenous with dripping teeth) then who will? the all-consuming shadows draw ever closer and you wonder with increasing uncertainty: who will disappear next? when will more blood spill?

GERALT M. GRIMM CENTER FOR MEDICINE

and there is just always something off about the place that’s meant to save lives: red crosses and checklists and the monitors (beep, beep, beep). the floors too clean, the sick too living — is it possible that blood is never even spilled here? but it is alone at night where you feel an unease between your bones (turn around, don’t come back; never here, never here). and maybe it’s the medications, but when you wake up you swear the nurse’s face isn’t even there.

SPECTRACY FIRE DEPARTMENT

burning, blistering, blazing. (rumor says they have ribs like matchsticks, and some would sooner strike to feed the flame than to ever put it out. but in this unholy town, there are always grasping touches of fiery hands -- of this there is no doubt.) so, now, the question is: how much longer until the department publicly drops the match? the building is falling apart due to budget cuts -- with cracking pavement, a leaky roof, and something in the garage making itself known through hair-raising whispers and a scratch, scratch, scratch.

SPECTRACY COUNTY COURTHOUSE + JAIL

it’s with a heavy gavel (an even heavier heart) — spectracy, a pleasant town, no good could go wrong. “the law is always followed! safest town of michigan” they always claim never letting you see their teeth behind the bars. but long hours and a clock that never moves, are you sure justice is served (or freedoms just taken away)?

SPECTRACY PUBLIC LIBRARY

the pages here pour a desperation that digs deep between sinew and skin. (a final dying wish.) truly, the dissatisfaction with the library is thick and heavy and far greater than it’s ever been. after all, it’s spider-spun with slow, outdated computers and they claim the book you’re searching for is never in its correct spot. (stumble between the shelves to escape the splitting silence -- to feel something slowly breathing down your neck -- to break open a book and realize the library is already dead and beginning to rot.)

SPECTRACY POST OFFICE

haven’t you heard the saying “there’s always more than meets the eye”? (if your package arrives stained with a strange dark substance, smile. it’s best not to question why.) here we have a service, small and slow and tucked between the ticking hands of time. but mail is carefully sorted by hand and things are guaranteed to get done right.

101.3 SPECTRACY FM

shakily turn up the volume -- the radio is your only comfort on the drive home tonight. (what is that sound barely heard beneath the commercial ads? something sharp. something scraping together like grinding teeth. something with a hungry bite.) you wait and you wonder: is there really no godforsaken comfort in this unholy town? (it’s always strange radio segments and even stranger music.) and it all turns to static when you dare to turn the volume back down.

THE SPECTRAL INN

here lies a paradise truly trapped in time – or so the rumors say. endlessly picturesque and forever freshly-painted, the spectral inn advertises itself as a dream-like get-away. but late at night, between the outdated decor and walls, there is something desperate and clawing and beating to be freed. a shadow stretched thin and disappearing around the corner. a wild, eternal echo and wailing weight – a single piercing scream. (“it’s so nice to have you here,” the receptionist smiles as she hands over your shiny new room key. “it’s been too quiet. and she has been so, so lonely.”)

THE SPECTRACY STANDARD

the headlines can tuck themselves between the bone and hollow out the heart. and the truth they publish can scratch down the spine -- but at least they’re honest when they tear you apart. (so pull open the pages of the newspaper and they’re stained with smudged ink and dark red.) it’s written between the lines with more on page 3: with everything we know, who will be next to wind up dead?

                              DINING

STARLA’S DINER ($)

something is dripping from the light bulbs and the jukebox won’t stop playing the same song. have you noticed how ever since sugar-sweet starla mysteriously disappeared last summer, this twenty-four hour diner has simply screamed wrong? once they called this the home of the best damn burgers in town. (but, oh, how things have so quickly turned around.) now it’s shadows spun into sub-par strawberry milkshakes and spider-webbed vinyl seats that stick to the skin. everyone pretends not to notice how sometimes -- just beyond their menus and out of the corner of their eyes -- they can still see starla’s curling grin.

LA BELLA NOTTE ITALIAN RISTORANTE ($$)

"a good night to be at la bella notte" they laugh: heartily as they pass you a bowl of their famous spaghetti. it's so unlike what you have had before, something so addicting: the sauce so flavorful, so thick; the flour crumbling between your teeth and setting in (like it's meant to be between your bones). they string the garlic along the outsides of their door, keep the smell in they claim (but what else are they trying to keep out).

NECTARINE ($$$)

it starts with soft lighting but ends with a scream spun from the sharpest smile. come, step into the finest restaurant spectracy has to offer -- so long as you wear a suit, make a reservation three weeks in advance, and don’t mind waiting a little while. (but this is the taunting truth and even your server sees it: how some here are dripping down the spine, heavy with wicked teeth and a touch of gleaming gold.) as the waiter brings back your drinks, you notice that the ice has already melted and he trembles and shakes -- a fear twisting and truly uncontrolled. (what happened to the last waiter to bring something to the table which wasn’t a “beauty to behold”?)

GITTANO’S PIZZERIA ($)

there are old sorrows forever scratched into the brick walls. isn’t it odd how one generation’s misery repeats itself through the years like a nightmare that never stops? and with only a few tables, they’ll say this place has always been too small to serve truly hungry crowds -- but it is loved by many, and the weekends have always pulled in a substantial turnout. after all, for its long-lasting existence, it has always been unbelievable breadsticks, premonitions scrawled onto receipts and that spine-chilling feeling of something’s not right, something’s not right. (when you call to place an order, a woman’s voice scratches, “we are so, so sorry about what will happen to you -- have a medium one-topping pizza on us tonight!”)

BLUEBIRD BAKERY ($$)

time takes and it takes and it never forgives. but here: between the taunting, ticking of the clock is where a world of breads and pastries and stickily spun breakfast lives. (they’ll hiss: did you see the checkerboard tiles? the chrome-and-glass displays? this is the suffocating sugar that spills between the formica counters: besides the brand new coffee bar, this bakery looks like it's trapped in a single shrieking time, like it still hasn’t aged a day.)

THE GETAWAY BAR & GRILLE ($)

yellowing photographs of the town’s athletes line the walls of the getaway (did those eyes just move?). it is a classic sports bar: angry fans, the televisions with the games. “what game’s on tonight?” it’s the same game as last night. the same game as last summer. the rips in the vinyl leak secrets onto your shoes, and when you leave, you leave covered in shadow. no one ever really gets away, after all.

LAKE SUPERIOR BREWING CO. ($$)

there are few places in town that are as lonely as this one. dark walnut timbers tower around you as you drink the homemade brew - "everything is housemade", the bartender says, "even the curses on the windows." sitting at the bar is the same bearded fisherman, drinking the same pint of stout, muttering about something on the lake isn’t right (perhaps it’s that boat you saw one night, between the hanging agate windchimes in the window.

BAB’S UNDERGROUND ($)

vinyl lined booths that stick to your skin, sticky sticky floors (covered in what? you almost ask, but no one knows - no one wants to know). you come here for the cheap shots of vodka and stay because the music compels you to dance. rumor has it that this was once a fairy revelry, and once you join you can never leave. nights spent here are nothing but blurry lights and a far-off scream that send chills running down your spine.

THE RAVEN’S CLUB ($$$)

quoth the raven, ‘nevermore’ hangs in neon script above the bar, and you think you caught the raven’s wings fluttering once, but you tell your friends and they laugh, saying it’s just the dim lighting and the absinthe served here. leather coats the booths and walls - "it must have been expensive to furnish," you say to the person sitting next to you at the bar, watching the crowd writhe in beat to the music. “not really, i just asked a few friends to help supply,” he replies. it is then you notice his hollow cheeks and and - is that blood on his fingernails?

                               EDUCATION

ABNER T. FORD ELEMENTARY AND MIDDLE SCHOOL & ESTHER J. BOBBINS HIGH SCHOOL 

this is a realm spun in malicious rumors that build up like cockroaches and slip into every nook and cranny like dust. do you realize that we all hear the scratching and clawing coming from your locker, no matter how hard you try to cover it up? welcome one and welcome all to the claustrophobic feeling of a thousand trapped souls tucked into too-tight desks. the lunch food is abundant and nutritious, though it’s unclear whether you’ll survive eating something so grotesque.

SPECTRACY UNIVERSITY

the students here are like the dead they joke, you sell yourself to education. but they can't get rid of the dead in their eyes, and no matter how much they try to rest, they can't fall asleep. and maybe it's the labs ( bubbling and boiling brewing god knows what ) or maybe it's the readings ( recitation and memorization repetition you can't get out of your head ), but somethings just a little bit off. but its brushed aside and laughed it, it's just the stress they assure.

                              ENTERTAINMENT

THE ADESSO INSTITUTE FOR FINE ARTS

what is art? is it the way the light casts shadows among the hyper realistic marble statues that makes you look once, twice, three times at the flicker in the corner of your eye? or perhaps it’s the painting in the corner that if you stare long enough without blinking, it’s suddenly thursday when it was tuesday last you checked. better not stay too long - or you might become an exhibit yourself.

THE REVELEY THEATRE

bright, incandescent lights, the smell of sweat and paint emanating off the stage. nothing here ever changes - not the smiles on the actors’ faces, or the brushstrokes on the painted set - not even the way the queen’s skirt falls around her in the final scene of the play. it is tradition to attend the theatre during the sticky summer nights, and even though you swear you must have seen this play a thousand times over, you can never remember what happens the moment you find your seat.

GLOBAL FITNESS

and maybe there really is a truth hidden within perfection: how it twists and taunts and tangles between too-white teeth and early morning yoga and newly-purchased treadmills. (in a brightly-painted building, this gym’s level of flawlessness does nothing but crawl into bone, splinter, and kill.) “it’s a new season,” the receptionist says. “it’s a new you.” (too happy, too pleased, too eager -- isn’t it strange that she only moves her lips? isn’t it strange that she’s always here when you come passing through?)

FAUTIAN TATTOOS & PIERCINGS

do you know how small we are in light, and how large our shadows become? there is something shadow-like beneath your skin -- permanent, never fading, and beating along to your fragile heart like a drum. so who put it there?: this barely-functioning shop that tethers memories to the skin through ink and strengthens the crumbling ruins of a cobwebbed mind. (betty in the back chimes around her cigarette: "some things really do last forever.”) you and the ink are now eternally intertwined.

LE REVÉ BEAUTY PARLOR & BARBERSHOP

too-tight smiles, winding whispers and a steady snip, snip, snip of scissors. (“are you ready for your makeover?”) and it’s a careful, creeping crawl into the strangely sticky seat -- after all, the stylist’s lipstick reminds you of the blood of boys who didn’t know how to properly hold a heart. (her scissors sing: what sins have you committed? what secrets do you have yet to spill?) “oh, yes, my dear. i’m going to turn you into a work of art.”

KEARNEY ANTIQUES

dust floats through the air, coating the antiques within. there are signs within saying “do not touch” and they coat the walls, appear behind artifacts and below your feet. it is best to let the shopkeeps handle these objects - as some are far more than they seem. “can i help you?” asks the owner’s boy, and a soft brogue tints his voice as being other. you turn, startled and start to speak, but choke. (it was the dust, it is always the dust). the trinket in your hand shatters as the floor pulls itself up towards you. everything goes black.

                               LIVING

MARLEY'S MARKET

always bright -- a single patch of light within the surrounding night. but was marley’s ever considered a ‘safe haven’? was it ever anything but a truly necessary fright? (sometimes the empty shelves sing and sometimes the checkout clerk has hollow eyes). and once, in second grade, jennifer said that on aisle three, she saw a heart hidden within the ice. someone’s love chillingly stowed away in the freezer behind the frozen waffles. someone’s stifled scream and terribly twisting touch of frostbite. (but what’s the price? what’s the price?)

SPECTRACY CREDIT UNION

so much of this town is dripping poisoned paper promises and oaths boldly broken. (it’s fingers scratching in want, desires fueled by money but sometimes left unspoken.) and they’ll call this the place to get loans and services tailored tightly to all of your super-specific financial needs. (and they’ll call this the place where people whisper the loudest about wealth and the breaking blood-stained bite that it sometimes leaves.)

THE 7/5 GAS STATION

you are friends with the shadow that skirts past your vision and rustles the bedroom curtains at night. but you are not friends with the shadow that taps on your car window here where the air is thick and nothing ever feels quite right. in the end, they say this was a structure built like a shell with no intention of personality: all gray colors and mediocre coffee and a quiet quickening to get away as fast as you can. (it’s a warning bell wrapped like something unassuming. and this was your greatest mistake: you should have just ran.)

THE BLUE BOTTLE

how does it feel to drown? can you taste the burn slicking down your throat going down and down and down? (see, this is the place to purchase alcohol but never the store to linger in for too long: the night will carve out caves in your eyes and you will fall right into the blue bottle’s intoxication and brightly-blurring song.)

FRAN'S PET SUPPLIES & MORE

tucked tightly between two vacant buildings lies fran’s laughter that always sounded more like growls. it’s known for its pink paw-prints on the front windows, pastel paint peeling, and the shaky whisper from around the corner, “don’t go in there. turn around. turn around.” (because here’s the thing: have you heard the rumors that scratch and claw? apparently, a few months ago, someone realized fran was feeding the aquarium fish something that did not look like fish food at all.)

BLOSSOMS & BAUBLES

they say beauty is pain -- and the flower shop's scars bleed the reddest of rose petals. (everyone here has begun to look like a garden. shaky smiles and hands that hide a beating heart’s thorns.) and here, tucked between blooms and blossoms, everything is breath-taking and bright, but you should have been warned. the willows weep at night, and flowers are bought less for love and more for the dying or already dead. (he loves me, he loves me not. he is already lying on his deathbed.)

[maximuswolf]

Discussion for Demons via /r/satanism

Discussion for Demons

In the most recent r/Satanism survey a large percentage of the responders indicated an interest in deeper discussion, but there seems to be a difficulty in finding discussion of common interest. Hopefully this post can help facilitate some future discussion, and de-lurk a few new members we've yet to hear from ;)

What do you call it?

The Essence of Satan? Lucifer's Light? The Black Flame? This is a post devoted to touching that supreme thing... in ways that aren't explicitly spiritual. That means no prayers, meditations, invocations, or rituals that don't have strong influences from other activities. By what other means do you commune with the Absolute?

Some things that have worked for me:

Climbing. It was through climbing that I first accessed serious spirituality. Rock is harsh and unforgiving. You cling to it for life, but if you aren't prudent someone may die upon it. You go in with the attitude that you have zero margin for error, but you still set up a chain of safeguards in case one breaks. While climbing at Lake Superior I had one experience flipping backwards into the water, that showed me what exactly the point of a baptism was. Like being waterboarded, but in a good way. As I made my way back up the cliff again I was filled with a kind of momentum as if I'd hitched a ride with a kind of ever persistent, unstoppable force.

That same trip during a very intimate group discussion, I found myself pulled into a great void of purple and blue and black, that despite its appearance was so completely warm and comforting- not quite like I'd ever experienced before. It still amazes me looking back at it, having been stone cold sober (for several days at that point, which at the time was kind of a big deal) and pulled into an powerful open-eye visual comparable to a trip. As I looked along the treeline those few days, I could almost see the roots of every tree twisting into the ground like fingers of deep crimson.

Ultimately I had a conflict with the mentor who led the group, a hardcore old buzzard who was an OG Deadhead back in the day. It ended up being my first real burn at the hands of an RHP ideology, although all RHP bullshit considered I got off quite easily. I wouldn't describe myself as an exceptional climber by any means, but I was a very good belayer- and all that that entails. I hope to get back into it eventually.

Martial Arts. I've done a healthy amount of kickboxing and Aikijitsu, with a small amount of wrestling and such a pitifully small amount of Kung Fu that I might as well not mention it. I was a bad wrestler, which was fine. I didn't go into it expecting to be a good one, and the workouts were good. I do much better with MMA, which I thoroughly enjoyed (and hopefully will again, soon). I have a good natural predisposition to MMA, but I still have a whole lot to learn. I know it about as well as I know magic.

The core of the matter is that I enjoy fighting. I don't enjoy getting into fights, I'm good at de-escalating and am fortunate enough to rarely ever have to think about using force in any real way. But I like fighting. A lot. Winning and losing. Which brings me to my next point...

BDSM & Kink. My earliest kinky thought was back when I was a truly tiny thing. I first learned kink existed in my early teens, and have been trying to learn as much about it as I can ever since.

I have little hands-on experience, but I know from climbing the seriousness of literally holding the line a life is on. To me BDSM seems similar in many ways to climbing, from thrill to trust to risk and risk management. It's also one of the few activities where one can with relative ease find both real darkness and real devotion. Till there's the opportunity to work with a partner, I'm going to educate myself as extensively as I'm able.

D&D. They told you this wasn't actually Satanic, right? Well... they're absolutely right. There's nothing inherently Satanic about D&D, or any other TTRPG's, but if you've even half an imagination there's a way for you to get lost in the Forgotten Realms. Bonus points if you fuck with Chaos Magic. Create your universe, practice for Pandemonium.

Naturalism. I struggled with the title of this heading, it really should be Getting Dirty. Because to me that's the most important part, you haven't really gotten outside if you haven't gotten dirty. Just like bruises in kink, dirt and scrapes are badges of purity and experience.

Sleeping rough, exploring abandoned buildings, backpacking, spelunking, you pick. While it doesn't get you dirty, one of my favorites is watching storms. It's got the same effect, grime or no. Being in the Midwest I get to enjoy the wild lightning storms that sweep through every summer, and the rare but far worse ones that come in the dead of winter.

The Refinement Of Indulgence. Developing and refining one's preferences. With Indulgence being so valued within Satanism, I can only think that its evolution must be even more stunning.

Do you find that you prefer peaty scotch over bourbon? How full of body do you like your cigars? What precisely do you look for in a condom? Why do you choose the drugs you do? Silicone, glass, or steel for sex toys?

Pick something evil ;)

The Seeking Out Of Low Places. A phrase taken from The Devil's Quran, and perhaps my favorite entry on this list. Find low, dirty, painful, argued over places and learn them well. Listen to the stories of the homeless and the abandoned. Meditate in a dingy cell, or burn a couch under an overpass (if you're reading this, that one goes out to you Emerston. Keep up with that safety, mate). Do some graffiti, or turn all the pictures in a building cockeyed. Find the ugliness in your world, and make peace with it.

That concludes what is my personal list, although I do hope to keep expanding it. Sinning is an activity I thoroughly enjoy. Which brings me to wondering, what's your list of favorite ways to get in trouble?

Lastly, I'd like to leave you with this wonderful article as the cherry for your infernal sundae. Take care all you horrific folk.

Submitted November 13, 2020 at 09:47AM by maryjanes_AK47 via reddit https://ift.tt/3lvH7n0